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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25492393">The Parseltongue Twins: Year One</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackholebabey/pseuds/blackholebabey'>blackholebabey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the parseltwins [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Hermione Granger, Gen, Good Severus Snape, Harry and Hermione are twins, Hogwarts First Year, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Severus Snape Has a Heart, Slytherin Harry Potter, Voldemort is Harry Potter's Parent, Voldemort is Hermione Granger's Parent, basically the Lestranges asked Voldemort to sire their kids</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:21:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>72,224</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25492393</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackholebabey/pseuds/blackholebabey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter grew up knowing nothing about his family or the wizarding world. Hermione Granger grew up knowing she was adopted by the Grangers as a baby, but she never looked into why that was. Now, at age eleven, both Harry and Hermione find themselves navigating this new world of magic, mystery, and the aftermath of a wizarding war not yet fully settled—all while trying to do well in their first year at Hogwarts.</p><p>But not everything is as it seems.</p><p>First Year AU where Harry and Hermione are Bellatrix and Voldemort’s twin children but were raised by others due to circumstances that can be best described as suspicious.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange, everyone else is like 11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the parseltwins [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>340</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1507</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Plan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don't own Harry Potter or any of the affiliated characters, but I deserve it more than JK Rowling's bigoted ass</p><p>PS: there will be no weasley bashing in the making of this fic (but probably a lot of making fun of percy). harry and the weasleys will still get along despite having different affinities because everyone's going to be more normal and reasonable than the "hero gryfindors vs evil slytherins" nonsense jo was pushing.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had appeared to be the simplest solution at the time. Bellatrix Black-Lestrange had always wanted children, but her husband Rodolphus had been unable to give them to her. The Dark Lord desired an heir but had no interest in pursuing the romantic relationships required for facilitating the conception of such heirs. Rodolphus wanted to make both his wife and his Lord happy. And so, the three of them devised a plan.</p><p>The Dark Lord would impregnate Bellatrix. Rodolphus would blood adopt the child. Their child would grow up loved and protected by all three powerful parents. They would all get exactly what they wanted.</p><p>None of them had been prepared for the miracle of twins.</p><p>Hydrus Salazar and Hermione Cassiopeia Riddle-Lestrange were the most perfect pair of children Bellatrix had ever seen. Hydrus looked so very much like the Dark Lord with his wavy black hair and fair skin, though his dark blue eyes were entirely Rodolpus. Hermione, on the other hand, could not have possibly looked more like a child of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black with her curly black hair and hooded silver eyes. Bellatrix could hardly believe that such beautiful babies were hers. </p><p>Everything was perfect. It was all going to according to plan… up until 1 August 1980.</p><p>“My Lord, I have urgent news.”</p><p>The baritone voice of Severus Snape echoed through the main hall of Riddle Manor. It was laced with desperation and despair, something so out of character for the usually stoic young potions master that a tense silence settled over the hall.</p><p>“It had better be truly urgent indeed, Severus,” the Dark Lord warned, “for you to have interrupted what little free time I have to spend with my heirs.”</p><p>As if knowing they were being spoken about, Hydrus and Hermione looked up from their seats on Rodolphus and Bellatrix’s laps and turned their attention to their sire. The Dark Lord returned their curious gazes with a reassuring one, amused as they reached out for him with uncoordinated fingers.</p><p>Severus—momentarily caught off guard by his Lord’s fatherly behavior—hesitated for a moment before explaining: “Lily Potter went into labor yesterday. I’m sorry to say that the child was stillborn.”</p><p>A whimper of despair left Bellatrix’s mouth before she could think better of it. She knew how much her Lord favored his distant cousin Lily Evans-Potter despite her barely magical blood. Born to his uncle Morfin’s squib bastard and a working class muggle, Lily was the only other Parselmouth and Slytherin Heir besides the Dark Lord. They had all hoped that her son Harry James Potter would carry on the nearly extinct Slytherin family magic.</p><p>At first, Bellatrix had hated Lily. She couldn’t understand why both Severus and the Dark Lord would care about a young woman with blood as impure as hers. Her own family had always believed in the importances of blood purity, and to claim that a mudblood like Lily Evans was a Slytherin heir had been tantamount to sacrilege.</p><p>It had taken some time, but eventually her Lord had taught her better. He opened her eyes and showed her that it was culture—not blood—that mattered. He revealed to her that both he and Severus were half-bloods, and that they had both studied magical culture so as to further preserve their noble ways. The muggle-raised children could benefit their society, he had assured her, so long as they were willing to learn their ways rather than force muggle culture onto them.</p><p>Lily had indeed wanted to learn, and she’d proved to be a quick study. While her cousin’s political goals were too extreme for her liking, she agreed on the importance of a magical culture education and had felt cheated that such a thing was not offered at Hogwarts. Yet she was also against the Light’s push to integrate the magical and muggle worlds, having heard enough stories of muggle-raised magical children being abused by their muggle relatives to know that harmony between the two would be impossible. At heart, Lady Lily Evans-Potter was a free-thinker and perfectly Gray, and that was something Bellatrix could respect.</p><p>Bellatrix still disliked James Potter, but she accepted his existence in Lily’s life so long as she didn’t have to interact with him. He was too loud, too Gryffindor, and far, far too modern. He loved muggle gadgets and muggle music and even loved venturing into muggle London with Bellatrix’s black sheep cousin Sirius. Truly, James Potter’s only redeeming quality in her eyes was that he at least had the decency to hate Lily’s horrid muggle sister.</p><p>Despite their differences in opinions and politics, though, Bellatrix could sympathize with their terrible grief of losing a child. Her years of trying in vain for a baby of her own were only a fraction of the suffering the Potters must be feeling to have come so close to having a child only to lose it before its first breath.</p><p>“Please send her my condolences as soon as you can do so without attracting attention,” the Dark Lord finally said, sounding so distant that he might not have even realized he was speaking. “I cannot possibly fathom the grief of losing one’s child. If there’s anything I could do to ease her suffering…”</p><p>Severus gave a terse nod. “I understand, My Lord. I’ll do everything I can for both her and James without arousing Dumbledore’s suspicions.” After a beat of silence, he added: “This also complicates the matter of Dumbledore’s false prophecy.”</p><p>“Do you think he will focus on the Longbottom boy now?”</p><p>“I am… unsure, My Lord,” Severus admitted. “Neither Alice nor Frank Longbottom are particularly powerful. There are doubts among the Light that any child of theirs could ever possess powers that you know not.”</p><p>Bellatrix chuckled. She remembered Alice Longbottom nee Prewett from her school days. The girl had been a gentle spirit with an enthusiasm for Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures—hardly the sort to play mother to some fabled Light Lord. Even less likely was the chance of her being manipulated by Dumbledore into allowing such a prophecy to control her newborn son’s life. If the boy  <i>did</i> have a destiny, it would be at his mother’s side in the family greenhouses.</p><p>The Dark Lord considered Severus’ words in a long moment of silence before stating: “The old fool is unlikely to abandon the prophecy he worked so hard to fabricate. We should all consider the possibility that he may try to pass off another child for Harry Potter.”</p><p>“James Potter shared those same concerns with me this morning, My Lord,” Severus admitted. “He told me that Dumbledore had asked him if he and Lily would consider adopting a child to replace the one they lost.”</p><p>“He must be truly worried if he would confide in you of all people.”</p><p>“Indeed,” Severus said with a sneer, despite his tone lacking its usual disdain for Lord Potter. “Potter has become increasingly wary of Dumbledore ever since he learned of the so-called prophecy. Now, though, he is fully convinced that the prophecy is invalid and that Dumbledore is trying to set his family up anyway.”</p><p>The Dark Lord frowned. “That’s it!” he realized. “That’s exactly what he’s doing. He’s using them as bait to draw me out of my manor. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. He must be expecting me to go after the child while it’s still too young to defend itself, and then he’ll kill me in revenge for the Light’s innocent martyred family.”</p><p>“My Lord, should I redirect Dumbledore’s attention?” Severus asked. “Perhaps tell him that you no longer believe in the prophecy now that Harry Potter is dead?”</p><p>“No,” the Dark Lord decided. “This setback will have him flustered, and he’ll be more likely to make mistakes. Ensure he remains unaware that I know the truth of my nephew’s passing for now.”</p><p>“Yes, My Lord.”</p><p>“And Severus?”</p><p>“Yes, My Lord?”</p><p>“You are no doubt grieving the loss of Harry Potter, who would have been your nephew just as much as mine due to your closeness with Lily.” The Dark Lord waited for Severus to nod before continuing. “I’m pulling you from practical work for the time being. Consider your brewing duties temporarily suspended.”</p><p>Severus tensed at that. “What would you have me do instead, My Lord?”</p><p>“Research,” the Dark Lord said simply. “Narcissa Malfoy is still recovering from her own difficult pregnancy with Draco. I’m sure she would love to help you develop a potion that reduces the risk of miscarriage and stillbirth.”</p><p>Bellatrix could see the Dark Lord’s ulterior motives, and she felt a swell of pride at being allied with a man like him. Severus was prone to sulking and dark moods if he didn’t have a distraction to pull him out if it. Her sweet younger sister Cissy was the same way. Being given a project—especially one that was geared toward fixing the exact cause of their pain—would make them feel useful enough to escape the darkness that currently plagued them. And if they were successful, they might just solve the problem of old pureblood families going extinct through infertility.</p><p>“My Lord, I’m honored to be given such a task,” Severus said graciously, his eyes glimmering with hope. “I’ll floo to Malfoy Manor right away.”</p><p>The Dark Lord raised a hand. “Patience, Severus. I will inform Narcissa first, and then she can contact you. I’d hate for you to wake young Draco by mistake. From what I hear, the child wails like a banshee when he’s tired.”</p><p>Severus grimaced at that description. “Of course, My Lord. I will await Narcissa’s correspondence.”</p><p>As Severus took his leave from Riddle Manor, the Dark Lord turned to his twins and smiled. “My children, despite this terrible loss, it looks like our family might just grow bigger than we could have ever dreamed.”</p><p>Despite her Lord’s words, Bellatrix couldn’t help but notice a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something, she knew, was about to go wrong.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Platform 9 and 3/4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Harry, Ron, Draco, and Hermione all board the Hogwarts express</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>unfortunately harry potter belongs to jk rowling</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry Potter paced between platforms 9 and 10 at King’s Cross Station, desperately trying to figure out how to find Platform 9 and ¾. He was sure it had to work like the Leaky Cauldron’s entrance to Diagon Alley, but he didn’t know the details. His so-called magical welcoming committee (better known as one Rubeus Hagrid) had failed to explain the workings of the platform before disappearing from Harry’s life and leaving him behind at Number 4 Privet Drive.</p><p>Hagrid wasn’t the only one at fault, though, and Harry knew it. Hagrid himself had openly admitted that he wasn't the best choice on staff for introducing muggle-raised children to the Wizarding World and had only agreed because he'd assumed Harry had already learned the basics from his aunt. In the end, he'd apologized for the rushed introduction and promised that his new school books would contain the answers he was looking for.</p><p>This proved to be mostly true. After his initial, far too brief introduction to Diagon Alley, Harry had learned how to summon the Knight Bus and returned three more times. He bought piles of supplemental books, better potions ingredients (now that he knew better), and additional robes so that he wouldn’t have to wear Dudley’s hand-me-downs at school. Not once during all that shopping did he think to ask someone how Platform 9 and ¾ worked.</p><p>“Excuse me, but do you need help finding the platform?”</p><p>Harry whipped around to see the face of his would-be savior. She was a petite girl—even smaller than his far too tiny frame—with bushy dark brown hair and inquisitive brown eyes. Like him, she wore simple muggle clothing and had a trunk that was far too big for her. Something about her presence gave off the impression that she had something to prove, though Harry hadn’t yet figured out what that was. And yet, despite having never seen this girl before, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d known her all his life.</p><p>“That owl of yours gave it away,” the girl explained, refusing to be deterred by Harry’s stunned silence. “Honestly, you’d think they’d sell cages with some sort of cloaking device so that the muggles wouldn’t see something as obviously magical as a tame owl.” She stopped talking for half a breath and stuck out her hand. “I’m Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger.”</p><p>Harry awkwardly shook the hand in front of him. “Harry Potter.”</p><p>“Are you really?” Hermione cast a quick glance at the scar on Harry’s forehead. “Well, Harry Potter, let’s get on the train before you get mobbed by fans who don’t know the first thing about personal space.”</p><p>Harry was so relieved by the girl’s nonchalance at his fame that he could have kissed her, even though he figured that would be both gross and rude. He wanted to tell her how happy he was that she seemed to instinctively know exactly what he needed in the moment rather than going about thinking she knew what was best for him like every other person he’d ever met. “Thank you,” he said instead.</p><p>Hermione grabbed him impatiently by the sleeve. “Come on, let’s go,” she urged him. “We’re supposed to just run through the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10, and I read that it was better to do it with someone else the first time.”</p><p>Harry happily allowed himself to be escorted around by this strange, bossy girl. Perhaps if he was lucky, he could get to know her on the train ride and make his very first best friend.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>Draco Malfoy tapped his foot impatiently as he stood by the floo. He was finally going to start Hogwarts, and he didn’t want to wait a moment longer. The train. The sorting. The houses. It was all going to be just as brilliant as his parents described.</p><p>Best of all, his godfather Severus Snape would be there. Draco adored his godfather—who he called Uncle Sev—and was excited to finally learn proper potions from him. Uncle Sev had taught him all about ingredient preparation and the uses for different types of cauldrons, but he’d never been allowed to brew before. Finally, he’d get the chance to make all sorts of concoctions and hopefully impress his dour godfather. He already knew it was going to be his favorite class.</p><p>“Mother?” he called out. “Father? Are you almost ready? I want to get a good seat on the train.”</p><p>“And you will, Draco,” his father assured him as he strode into the room. “We’ll be leaving any moment now. Your sister was having trouble finding some specific pair of shoes she wanted to wear.”</p><p>Draco rolled his eyes. Of course it was his little sister Ursa holding them up. Only eight years old, she was already the biggest diva in the family. Every little detail of her appearance had to be absolutely perfect, or she’d refuse to leave the house.</p><p>“I don’t see the point in bringing her along since she’s not going on the train anyway,” Draco grumbled. “Can’t we just say our goodbyes here?”</p><p>His father looked ready to scold him for his petulance, but Draco was saved by his mother and sister’s arrival. “Alright, Dragon, let’s get you to the platform,” his mother said with a loving smile.</p><p>“One moment, Cissy,” his father said before turning to Draco. “Son, do you remember your important task for this year?”</p><p>Draco resisted the urge to groan. How could he not remember? His father had brought it up at least once a week all summer. “Yes, Father. I’m to make friends with Harry Potter and whatever friends he makes regardless of blood status or magical affiliation.”</p><p>“And do you remember why?”</p><p>“Because Harry Potter is cousin Hydrus, and he’s certain to befriend his twin Hermione despite any glamors they might both be hiding behind.”</p><p>His father gave him an approving nod. “Very good, Draco. I know it’ll be difficult to see your cousins in whatever awful state the Light has put them in, but they’ll need you when the time comes for them to return to our family.”</p><p>Draco winced slightly. He’d spent so much time worrying about how to impress his cousins that he’d forgotten how corrupted they’d be. What if they’d been taught to hate him? What if they were under compulsion spells or the Imperius Curse? Worst of all: what if they were perfectly fine and just didn’t like him?</p><p>“Alright, Lucius, that’s enough,” his mother scolded. “You don’t want to stress the poor boy out so much on his big day.”</p><p>Ursa began jumping up and down in a terribly un-Malfoy fashion. “Is it time to see the Hogwarts Express? Can I go with Draco? I want to meet our cousins too!”</p><p>“When you’re older, darling,” both his parents promised her.</p><p>At the sight of Ursa’s petulant pouting, Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. He finally understood what his father meant all those times he talked about suffering from tension headaches.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>“Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever understand that man,” Ron’s mother muttered for what seemed to be the thousandth time that morning. “Why can’t he just be straightforward for once?”</p><p>Ron knew his mother was talking about Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. These days, she always got like this when she talked about him. His family still greatly admired the leader of the Light, but his tendency to be as vague as possible clearly grated on the Weasley matriarch’s nerves.</p><p>“What happened this time, Mum?” George asked, reveling in not being the one his mother was annoyed with for once.</p><p>“Not ten minutes before we left this morning, Dumbledore floo’d and asked if I could show Harry Potter how to get to Platform 9 and ¾,” she explained.</p><p>Ginny’s eyes went wide. “Really? Harry Potter?”</p><p>“Yes, Ginny, but I doubt we’ll see him,” Mrs. Weasley admitted. “I tried to get details about whether I’d need to pick the boy up from his home or if there was a set time that he’d be here to meet us, but Dumbledore disappeared from the floo just as quickly as he’d arrived.” She shook her head. “No matter. Plenty of families have been coming through the platform all morning. He’s bound to have asked one of them for help by now.”</p><p>“Too bad perfect prefect Percy didn’t have the chance to show the boy around,” Fred drawled.</p><p>“He could’ve finally put that shiny new badge of his to good use,” George added.</p><p>“Fred! George!” Mrs. Weasley scolded. “Don’t insult your brother! You know how excited he is about being a prefect.”</p><p>Ron noticed that Percy’s cheeks had gone red despite the stern expression he was forcing himself to wear. He felt a bit bad that the twins had been teasing him so much this summer—even though he had been a massive prat about the whole prefect thing—but wasn’t about to intervene and get the twins’ teasing turned against him.</p><p>“You all better behave this year, especially you, Fred and George,” their mother warned them. “I don’t want to hear about the two of you dragging Ron into all sorts of danger or blowing up toilets or anything of that nature.”</p><p>“Blowing up toilets? We’ve never done that before,” George insisted, his face contorted in the perfect mask of mock offense.</p><p>Fred grinned. “But it’s a brilliant idea! Thanks, Mum!”</p><p>As he watched his older brothers disappear through the barrier, Ron suppressed a groan. He hoped that, no matter how he was sorted, he didn’t end up in the same house as the three of them.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>“Do you mind? Everywhere else is full.”</p><p>Harry looked up from the book he was sharing with Hermione on wizarding etiquette when he saw the tall, lanky figure of an awkward redhead standing in the doorway. He looked to be the same age as them despite his height, and his tie was without house colors just like theirs.</p><p>“Sure, as long as you don’t mind us reading,” Hermione decided after a beat. “But just so you know, you’ve got a bit of dirt on your nose. You might want to wipe it off.”</p><p>“Bloody floo powder,” the redhead grumbled as he scrubbed his nose with the fabric of sleeve. “This happens every single time without fail.”</p><p>“You got here by floo?” Hermione asked him. “I’ve read all about the floo system, but I’ve never used it before. Does it really feel like you’re being sucked through a small tube like all the books say?”</p><p>“Yes, but it also feels like you’re being bounced around inside the tube,” the redhead explained as he plopped down beside Harry. “I’m Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley.”</p><p>Hermione pursed her lips, clearly unimpressed that Ron still had a bit of floo powder on his nose. “Pleasure,” she said without meaning it. “I’m Hermione Granger.”</p><p>“Harry Potter,” Harry introduced himself.</p><p>Ron’s eyes went wide. “Wow, can’t say I expected that. I mean, Mum did say you’d be in my year, but still. Do you really have the scar?”</p><p>Harry hesitantly pushed up his bangs to show off his lightning bolt scar. He didn’t like all the attention it received, but he could tell that Ron was the sort to act normally once he got over his initial curiosity.</p><p>“Wicked!” Ron gasped. “Sometimes I wish I had a cool scar. Obviously not one like yours, I mean, no offense.”</p><p>“None taken,” Harry replied, but Ron was talking so fast that Harry didn’t think the boy had even heard him.</p><p>“But my older brothers Bill and Charlie both have scars with super interesting stories behind them. Granted, all of Charlie’s are some variation of a dragon getting too feisty, but it’s still super cool. Maybe someday I’ll have a scar with some brilliant story of how I got it, too.”</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes. “Boys,” she muttered as she returned her attention to the book on her lap.</p><p>“Does your brother Charlie work with dragons then?” Harry asked. He’d learned from Ollivander’s discussion about wand cores that dragons were real—and apparently their heart strings were used in wands—but he didn’t know anything about them beyond that. He wondered how accurate muggle fiction was in depicting them.</p><p>“Are you guys talking about dragons in here?” a familiar voice asked excitedly.</p><p>Harry looked up and immediately recognized the blonde, pointy boy in the doorway as the somewhat annoying kid he’d met at Madame Malkin’s. He didn’t want to judge the other boy based on that one brief conversation, but he doubted he’d make it the train ride without strangling the boy if prattled on about absolute rich kid nonsense like he had during his robe fitting.</p><p>“Yeah, my older brother Charlie works at the dragon preserve in Romania,” Ron said, completely oblivious to Harry’s internal turmoil.</p><p>“Wicked. I’ve always loved dragons, but I suppose I’d have to with a name like mine.” He sat down beside Hermione and stuck out his hand toward Ron. “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”</p><p>“That explains the dragon obsession,” Hermione said under her breath.</p><p>Ron’s mouth fell open in shock. “Really? You’re a Malfoy?”</p><p>“Yeah? What of it?” Draco asked defensively.</p><p>“Well, with the way my dad talks about your dad, I sort of figured you’d be some frigid, snooty prat or something,” Ron admitted.</p><p>“I take it you’re a Weasley then? The red hair was my first clue, but the animosity between our fathers really gave it away.”</p><p>Ron appraised Draco, seemingly impressed. “Ron Weasley. Call me Ron.”</p><p>“Only if you call me Draco.”<br/>
Harry observed the way in which the two interacted, dozens of questions forming in his head. He’d read about exchanges like this in the books he’d bought on wizarding culture, but he’d never seen it in person before. Now that he knew what it looked like, he hoped he’d have a better chance of imitating it when needed.</p><p>“Now who might you other two be?” Draco asked, finally realizing that it wasn’t just him and the answer to his dragon curiosity.</p><p>“Hermione Granger.”</p><p>Draco blinked at that, surprised. “Of the Dagworth-Grangers? I thought they were all in France these days.”</p><p>“No.” Hermione shook her head. “I’m muggle-born. Or maybe just muggle raised. I’m not entirely sure.” A look of defiance flashed over her features, as if she was daring them to have a problem with it. “I was adopted by the Grangers when I was little, and my adoptive parents aren’t magical.”</p><p>“I was muggle raised, too,” Harry added, hoping that it would make Hermione feel less awkward if he did. “Didn’t even know I was a wizard until July.”</p><p>“Bloody hell,” Ron gasped. “But you’re Harry Potter!”</p><p>“That doesn’t exactly mean anything in the muggle world,” Harry retorted. “Growing up, I was just orphaned nephew that my aunt and uncle got stuck with.”</p><p>Draco looked furious. “Got stuck with? How dare they act like that! Don’t they know how important family is? I know if my parents had been raising my cousins, they would have spoiled them just as much as they did my sister and I.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Please don’t tell me all muggles are like that.”</p><p>Harry was in absolutely no position to defend muggles to Draco, so instead he said: “I’m sure they’re not. I bet Hermione’s muggle family was loads better than mine.”</p><p>Hermione grimaced. “Actually, my parents have mostly been pretending I don’t exist ever since my accidental magic started. I think it scares them.”</p><p>Harry took a moment to be properly horrified for Hermione’s upbringing, before turning to Ron and Draco, who appeared to be in a competition for most dramatic possible reaction. Ron looked ready to fight someone, but it was Draco who took the prize of true drama queen.</p><p>The blonde groaned and slumped in his seat. “Alright, let’s change the subject to something lighter before I have a coronary.”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous. Eleven year olds don’t have coronaries,” Hermione told him, rolling her eyes.</p><p>“I thought they didn’t get tension headaches either until my sister nearly made us late for the train this morning, so who know what else could happen?”</p><p>“House preferences? I can go first,” Ron suggested. Once everyone turned their attention on him, he stated: “I think I’d be happy with Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, but I’d riot if I were in Slytherin.”</p><p>“What’s wrong with Slytherin?” Draco snapped.</p><p>“My older brother Percy is the fifth year prefect for Slytherin. He’s been so annoying about it all summer. I don’t want to deal with it at school, too.”</p><p>That explanation seemed to satisfy whatever perceived offense Draco had been harboring. “Wait… Percy Weasley?” he asked. “Isn’t he the one who got pranked so that all that all his quills corrected his name to Percy the Prat on all his assignments last year?”</p><p>Ron snorted. “Yeah, that’s him. How’d you hear about that?”</p><p>“Professor Snape is my godfather, and he loves complaining about his students whenever he visits us.”</p><p>“I can’t imagine having him as a godfather,” Ron said with a shudder. “Fred and George say he’s a terrifying vampire who chops kids up into potions ingredients.”</p><p>“The twin terrors would say that, wouldn’t they? He’s not that bad, though. Just strict and rather unfriendly.”</p><p>“I read that Professor Snape was the youngest person to receive their potions mastery in nearly three hundred years,” Hermione interjected. “I’ll gladly put up with strict and unfriendly if it means learning from a true genius.”</p><p>“Hoping for Ravenclaw then?” Draco teased.</p><p>Hermione nodded vigorously. “Oh, absolutely. At first I thought I’d want Gryffindor because Professor McGonnagall was the one who took me to Diagon Alley and I really liked her, but I changed my mind as soon as I read up on the house descriptions. It all sounded far too loud and outgoing for my taste. How could anyone get any studying done in an environment like that?”</p><p>Harry and Draco nodded along in silent agreement, while Ron simply shrugged.</p><p>“Well I’m destined for Slytherin, so there really isn’t much to discuss with me,” Draco said imperiously. “My whole family has been in Slytherin for generations on both sides, and they do say house ideals are learned from your family first. I can’t imagine being sorted anywhere else.”</p><p>“Good luck dealing with Percy then,” Ron teased.</p><p>Draco stuck his tongue out at the redhead.</p><p>“I think I’ll probably end up in Slytherin as well,” Harry admitted. “Maybe Ravenclaw, but I doubt it. Hagrid said a lot of really unkind things about Slytherin being full of evil dark wizards, but I read up on it and he’s all wrong. There have been good and evil wizards from all the houses.” He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should reveal a fact that had earned him a week with no meals at the Dursley house, only to remember that wizards wouldn’t mind. “Besides, I can’t imagine someone who can talk to snakes going anywhere else but Slytherin.”</p><p>Ron and Draco gasped, but Hermione’s eyes lit up. “You can talk to snakes, too? I read that it was really rare in Europe, and I was so worried that I’d never meet someone else who could.” She gasped, practically jumping up and down in her seat. “Maybe we could study parselmagic together. I imagine it’ll be hard to find books on, but apparently all of the most powerful healing spells are in Parseltongue.”</p><p>Harry felt rather overwhelmed by how quickly Hermione was talking and had no idea what part of her monologue to reply to first, but luckily Ron intervened by saying: “Is it really that good for healing? I always heard Parseltongue was the trait of a dark wizard, but healing isn’t dark at all.”</p><p>“Actually there are elements of healing that are considered dark magic, like healing curse wounds or anything to do with blood,” Draco replied. “Before she had me, my mother got her mastery in dark healing. She does some house calls for bloodline curses now, but I imagine she’ll go back to working at St. Mungo’s once my sister comes to Hogwarts.”</p><p>“Oh but that’s brilliant!” Hermione exclaimed. “Do you think you could ask your mother if she’d mind me writing to her about dark healing? It sounds ever so fascinating and complex.”</p><p>Draco looked stunned for a moment but quickly regained his composure. “Of course, Hermione. I’m sure she’d love that. Merlin knows my sister and I have no real interest, so I’m sure she’d be thrilled to talk about to someone with your enthusiasm.”</p><p>Harry watched on as his three first and only friends chattered on and on, occasionally throwing in an opinion of his own. He wasn’t used to having friends and his talked a great deal, but he was more than happy to bask in the glory of their unending conversations. If this was was how the wizarding world was going to be, he never wanted to leave.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Sorting Ceremony</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>time to sort the ickle firsties</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>some portions of this chapter are lifted from the original text. it should all be in italics but just know that if you recognize it, it's not mine. i plan to do this as little as possible in future chapters, but it's a bit hard to be super original for the sorting ceremony.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry still wasn’t sure how he felt about Hagrid as he followed the half-giant toward the boats that would take the first years to Hogwarts. At first, he’d seen Hagrid as a savior who’d rescued him from his awful life at the Dursleys and delivered him to where he truly belonged. But then, after one beautiful day of magic and wonder, Harry had been unceremoniously dropped back off at the mundane hell from which he came. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been worse than ever, punishing Harry severely for Dudley’s new pig tail. Now that they had concrete evidence of his freakishness, their treatment of him grew even worse. And Hagrid had just left him there!</p><p>Hagrid’s negligence in leaving Harry in an unsafe household had been bad enough, but it wasn’t the gamekeeper's only failing that day. Hagrid also absconded with the key to Harry’s trust vault, told him prejudiced lies about Slytherin house, and talked up all sorts of nonsense about how Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was the new Merlin. It was infuriating. How great could Dumbledore really be if Harry had managed to defeat Voldemort as a baby when Dumbledore had been trying to do exactly that for decades? If Dumbledore was so great, then why was he unable to protect Lily and James Potter? And why did the old man have control of his trust vault key?</p><p>Harry may not have decided if Hagrid was inherently awful or just unable to realize he was being manipulated, but he knew for certain that he hated Albus Dumbledore. Hagrid may have delivered him to the Dursleys all those years ago, but it was Dumbledore who demanded it happen. Every single moment where Harry’s life had gone wrong had so far been the fault of this allegedly great headmaster.</p><p>This seething hatred occupied Harry’s thoughts all the way from the train through the boat ride and into the Great Hall. He had somehow disconnected from his surroundings entirely until he heard Hermione say: “It’s bewitched to look like sky outside. I read about it in <i>Hogwarts: A History</i>.”</p><p>So far, Hermione was Harry’s favorite part of going to Hogwarts. He couldn’t explain why, but being friends with her made him feel like some missing part of him had been found. He hadn’t even noticed that he wasn’t whole until he saw her at King’s Cross. Now, the mere thought of being separated from her made his heart ache. <i>Was this</i>, he wondered, <i>how people with families felt about one another?</i></p><p>He shook such thoughts from his head. He was getting far too ahead of himself. Being friends with Hermione for a few short hours didn’t make her his family, even if they both apparently didn’t have much of anything resembling a family in the muggle world they’d left behind.</p><p>A firm grip on his shoulder by Draco snapped Harry back to reality. “Pay attention Harry. The sorting’s about to start.”</p><p>
  <i>Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing—noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth—and the hat began to sing:</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,<br/>
But don't judge on what you see,<br/>
I'll eat myself if you can find<br/>
A smarter hat than me.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>You can keep your bowlers black,<br/>
Your top hats sleek and tall,<br/>
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat<br/>
And I can cap them all.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>There's nothing hidden in your head<br/>
The Sorting Hat can't see,<br/>
So try me on and I will tell you<br/>
Where you ought to be.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>You might belong in Gryffindor,<br/>
Where dwell the brave at heart,<br/>
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart;<br/>
You might belong in Hufflepuff,<br/>
Where they are just and loyal,<br/>
Those patient Hufflepuffis are true And unafraid of toil;</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,<br/>
if you've a ready mind,<br/>
Where those of wit and learning,<br/>
Will always find their kind;<br/>
Or perhaps in Slytherin<br/>
You'll make your real friends,<br/>
Those cunning folk use any means<br/>
To achieve their ends.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>So put me on! Don't be afraid!<br/>
And don't get in a flap!<br/>
You're in safe hands (though I have none)<br/>
For I'm a Thinking Cap!" </i>
</p><p>“So we just have to put on some ratty old hat that sings off key?” Ron whispered incredulously. “And here I thought it’d be an actual challenge. Fred was going on about having to fight a troll.”</p><p>Draco scoffed. “Don’t be stupid. They’d never let first years fight a troll. That sounds like more of a NEWT practical than an entrance exam.”</p><p>Harry didn’t say anything, but he agreed with Draco (even though he didn’t know what a NEWT practical was). There was no way that the Hogwarts professors were stupid enough to let small children fight a troll.</p><p>Still, he wished the whole sorting didn’t have to be so public. Trying to get through the Leaky Cauldron in one piece was challenging enough. There was no telling if he’d survive crossing the Great Hall with hundreds of students gawking at him, hoping to get a glimpse of the stupid scar that made him famous.</p><p>
  <i>Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moments pause—</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Bones, Susan!"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Boot, Terry!"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"RAVENCLAW!"</i>
</p><p>As Harry continued to watch the sorting, he noticed that some students were sorted immediately while others took several minutes. He wondered how the hat was capable of making such swift judgements at all. Didn’t all the students deserve a bit more time to be properly analyzed to ensure they ended up in the right place? It just didn’t seem fair.</p><p>
  <i>"Granger, Hermione!"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.</i>
</p><p>"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat.</p><p>Ron groaned. “I’m dead if I don’t have any classes with her,” he hissed. “She’s practically a walking encyclopedia.”</p><p>“You could always try joining a study group with her,” Harry suggested.</p><p>“Or, you know, actually doing the work yourself,” Draco added, even though they all knew Ron would never do such a thing.</p><p>“Malfoy, Draco!”</p><p>Draco swaggered forward and sat upon the stool. The hat barely had a chance to ruffle his slicked back hair before declaring—</p><p>“SLYTHERIN!”</p><p><i>No surprises there,</i> Harry thought. <i>He’s a bit snobbish but probably just as Slytherin as me.</i> </p><p>There weren’t too many students left after that, although there was a rather large clump with last names that started with P. Parkinson. Patil. Patil. Perks. And then, finally, Potter.</p><p>
  <i>As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Potter, did she say?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The Harry Potter?"</i>
</p><p>Harry wasn’t sure if he was going to scream or vomit. This was exactly why he’d wished the sortings were more private. He’d never find peace in this school with everyone gaping at him the way Dudley had done to the snakes at the zoo.</p><p>
  <i>The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear. "Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting.... So where shall I put you?"</i>
</p><p><i>I think you and I both know where I belong,</i> Harry thought back at the hat.</p><p>“I do indeed,” the hat agreed. “Both your mind and your birthright call out to Slytherin, the strongest claim I’ve seen in fifty-odd years.”</p><p>His birthright? That took Harry by surprise. Both of his parents had been Gryffindors. What birthright could he possible have in Slytherin?</p><p>Then again, Ollivander had something equally strange whenever he’d bought his wand. Holly and phoenix feather. Twin core to Voldemort’s wand. And another strange comment about his birthright. He wondered if the two things were somehow related.</p><p>“I take it that particular secret is still being kept from you,” the hat realized. “Be warned: there are those among us who would do anything to deny you your birthright. Still, to put you anywhere else would be a disservice to both you and the school. Better be—”</p><p>Harry sucked in a breath.</p><p>“SLYTHERIN!”</p><p>Harry was so relieved to be in the house he knew he truly belonged in that he hardly noticed the deafening silence that fell over the Great Hall. No one—with the exception of Harry and his new friends—had expected their Boy Who Lived to belong in the house of snakes. Yet, for as observant of a boy as Harry was, he was blissfully unaware of the shock around him.</p><p>He sat down next to Draco at the Slytherin table, and his friend placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. No one had ever tried to reassure Harry before, but he found he rather liked it. He pondered over whether or not to return the gesture, but one look at Draco’s smug face let him know that the blonde was in no need of reassurance.</p><p><i>He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him</i> a wary look that made Harry’s stomach twist into anxious nots. <i>And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts.</i> His entire look gave off the impression of a very skinny mall Santa mixed with a wizard from low-budget BBC drama. It was so over the top from all the other professors at the table that it must have been some carefully and deliberately planned costume. Harry hated everything about it.</p><p>
  <i>Harry spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.</i>
</p><p><i>And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a black boy even taller than Ron, joined the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table and a second later the hat had shouted,</i> "HUFFLEPUFF!"</p><p>Harry clapped loudly for his friend, even though he was sorry they wouldn’t be in the same house. Ron had gotten one of his top two preferred houses, and Harry knew that the redhead would be sure to thrive there.</p><p>“It’s a shame we didn’t get Ron and Hermione,” Draco said from beside him. “Maybe we really should form a study group so that we can all spend time together.”</p><p>Harry nodded in agreement. He wasn’t sure how far their dorms would be from one another, but perhaps they could all find a study spot in some middle ground that wouldn’t be too far for any one of them to travel. If not, he supposed the library would have to do.</p><p>
  <i>Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.</i>
</p><p>“What a nutter,” Draco declared.</p><p>The snubnosed Asian girl that the hat had called Parkison snorted. “What gave it away for you? I figured it obvious enough by the way he’s dressed that he’s completely off his rocker.”</p><p>“You don’t know that,” Harry replied, his tone laced with a playful mock offense. “He could have been calling out the names of his house elves.”</p><p>All the first years laughed raucously at that—save for the two that looked like boulders, who seemed to be taking Harry’s words seriously. Harry’s shoulders sagged in relief that his joke had been well received. He’d only known about house elves from a short passage he’d read in a book on common magical household creatures, but he’d been unable to forget how strangely they were all named. He was glad to know he wasn’t the only one who thought their names were odd.</p><p>Draco nudged Harry’s side. “Come on. You’ll want to fill your plate before Crabbe and Goyle eat the whole feast.”</p><p>
  <i>Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.</i>
</p><p>The Dursleys had never allowed him to eat very much. A day where he got table scraps from more than one meal was a lucky one. Most of the time, he barely got enough to keep the acidic pain of hunger at bay.</p><p>He supposed that was part of why he was so small for his age. After all, Aunt Petunia was quite tall for woman—even taller than Uncle Vernon, though not by much. Harry suspected that his mother must have been tall as well with a sister like Aunt Petunia. Even if it turned out that his father was short, it just didn’t seem possible that Harry ought to be nearly as small as he was.</p><p>Eyeing up the spread in front of him, he decided to put just a little bit of everything on his plate. He didn’t yet know what sorts of foods were his favorites, and this was the perfect opportunity to figure that out. Besides, he’d need all the food he could stomach if he wanted to grow..</p><p>“That Granger girl with the awful hair,” Parkinson said between bites of her roast potatoes, “is she a Dagworth-Granger?”</p><p>Harry was surprised to hear Parkinson ask the same question as Draco. He’d never heard of anyone called Dagworth-Granger in any of the books he’d read so far, but he was starting to wonder if they were an important family of some kind.</p><p>Draco shook his head. “No. Apparently she was adopted by muggles who happened to be called Granger,” he explained. “But with a first name like Hermione, I doubt she’s anything less than half-blood.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Parkinson sniffed with disdain. “That sort of thing should be illegal if you ask me. Muggles don’t know anything about how ro raise our kind.”</p><p>“I agree,” Harry said, surprising himself. “My muggle aunt and uncle raised me, and they hated everything that had to do with magic. They called it all freakish and abnormal.” He paused when Draco and Parkinson gasped, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at their dramatics. “I can’t imagine I’m the first wizard to be raised by muggles like that, but putting known magical kids in muggle homes shouldn’t be allowed to continue.’</p><p>Parkinson studied him, her eyebrow arched in curiosity. “You’re not at all what I was expecting, Potter, but I like it. I think we’ll get along just fine.”</p><p>“In that case, please call me Harry.”</p><p>“Only if you call me Pansy.”</p><p>A warm, comforting feeling spread through Harry. He was so very pleased to have made another friend.</p><p>Conversations between his yearmates continued on around him, but he was beginning to feel a bit drowsy. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that he felt full for perhaps the first time in his life. </p><p>Instead of trying to follow along with all the chatter, Harry glanced up at the High Table once more. <i>Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.</i></p><p>The black haired professor looked terribly familiar, but Harry couldn’t figure out why. He was certain he’d never met the man. After all, he didn’t know any other wizards, and the Dursleys didn’t either. So why did he feel like he’d met the professor before?</p><p>“Draco,” he asked, nudging his friend’s shoulder. “Who’s that talking to Professor Quirrell?”</p><p>“Quirrell?” Draco repeated, confused.</p><p>“The one in the purple turban that’s too big for his head.”</p><p>Draco snorted. “I suppose it is, isn’t it? It’s Uncle Sev—I mean, Professor Snape—that he’s talking to. He’s our Potions professor and the Slytherin Head of House.”</p><p>“And your godfather,” Harry remembered.</p><p>“Why’d you ask anyway? Don’t tell me you’re already scared of him.”</p><p>Harry shook his head. “No, that’s not it. I just… I don’t know. I feel like I’ve seen him before, but I’m sure I haven’t anyone called Snape.”</p><p>“You probably saw his picture in an old photo album or something,” Draco guessed. “I imagine you’ve got all sorts of embarrassing pictures of him from when he was young, seeing as his best friend growing up was your mother.”</p><p>“Must have been,” Harry said with a shrug even though he knew that wasn’t the case. His aunt and uncle didn’t even have pictures of Harry’s parents in the house. There was no way they’d have pictures of other wizards lying around.</p><p>Instead, Harry focused on this brand new bit of information about his mother. He’d learned over the summer that she had been a witch and had died to protect Harry, but those were nothing more than impersonal facts. Discovering who her childhood friend had been was the first thing he’d learned about her that couldn’t be found in a history book. He would have to get to know Professor Snape better so that he could learn more about his mother.</p><p>Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly, chasing away all of Harry’s thoughts of his mother. <i>Whatever he has to say better be important</i>, Harry decided, <i>or else I’ll be even more annoyed with him than I was before.</i></p><p>
  <i>"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."</i>
</p><p>Dumbledore's obnoxious twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Ravenclaw table, where Harry saw two identical redheads smirk at one another.</p><p>
  <i>"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.</i>
</p><p>“I don’t think he meant that as a joke,” Pansy whispered to him, trying and failing not to look nervous.</p><p>Harry raised both eyebrows. “Seriously? They’d keep something that dangerous in a school? Don’t wizards have safety regulations?”</p><p>“Apparently not,” Draco replied. “No wonder my father says this place is going to the dogs. I doubt they had any murder corridors under the previous headmaster.”</p><p>Before Harry had the chance to laugh about the phrase “murder corridors”, a lanky redhead with a shiny “P” badge called out: “First years, with me!”</p><p><i>That must be Percy Weasley</i>, Harry realized as he and his fellow yearmates followed the older boy. He looked quite a bit like Ron, but the way he carried himself was far more formal and aristocratic—almost to the point of being pompous. Harry supposed that was why the boy was called Percy the Prat.</p><p>Once they reached the dungeons, Percy came to a stop outside an ornate wrought iron door with a silvery serpent handle. “Our dormitories are protected by a password, which will change every two weeks,” he stated. “You are not to give out the password to anyone from a different house, nor are you permitted to invite students from other houses into our common room.” He waited until he saw the younger students nodding along before informing them: “The current password is Serpentine.”</p><p>The door opened with an audible click at the sound of the password, its serpent handle receding as it revealed the rooms on the other side.</p><p>Harry trailed behind the other students as they made their way into their new common room, still too fascinated by the mechanics of the doorhandle to pay attention to much else. He wondered if it was magic, muggle engineering, or a combination of both that made it work the way it did. Perhaps he should ask Hermione if she’d read anything about it in <i>Hogwarts: A History</i>.</p><p>Percy directed the boys toward the left to find their dormitories while the other fifth year prefect—a friendly brunette by the name of Gemma Farley—took the girls to their dormitories on the right.</p><p>As soon as Harry entered the dorms, he was blown away by how beautiful they were. Lined up against the back wall were six four-poster beds with satiny, emerald green curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up and placed in front of the beds, and none of the boys minded their placement enough to move. Draco was at the far end of the room by the wall, and Harry’s bed was the next one over. On his other side was a sandy-haired boy called Theodore Nott, then Blaise Zabini, and finally the two large boys that he now knew were called Crabbe and Goyle. It was the best bedroom Harry had ever seen.</p><p>“All the green and silver is really peaceful, isn’t it?” Draco commented as he collapsed onto his bed. “Very calming.”</p><p>“Yeah, it really is,” Harry agreed. It was peaceful and calming, and best of all, it was his. Finally, he had a place that he could call home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Problems with Potions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>harry and draco have potions with the gryffindors. it's only mildly explosive.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>chunks of text yoinked from the book are italicized</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry’s first week at Hogwarts was going slightly worse than he’d anticipated. He’d expected the stares and whispers—an annoying side effect of being famous for something he couldn’t remember—but nothing could have prepared him for the true depths of the anti-Slytherin sentiment harbored by students from the other three houses. Walking through the halls made him feel as though he were surrounded by dozens of Dudleys who were just waiting for the teacher to look the other way before making their move. They seemed to think he was some sort of traitor just because he was both their Boy Who Lived and a Slytherin. He was afraid to go anywhere alone.</p>
<p>Lucky for Harry, the other Slytherin first years didn’t like walking around by themselves either. They all traveled in pairs at the minimum, though they aimed for groups of three or more when possible. If one student was asked to stay behind after class, two others waited for them at the door. If someone needed a book from the library, they made an impromptu study group session out of it. Every single one of them was committed to their silently arranged system.</p>
<p>Classes, at least, provided a respite from the hallway taunting. No one dared mouth off in Transfiguration or Charms, Herbology kept them too busy (being paired with Ron helped too), and no one could stay awake long enough in History of Magic to complete a coherent sentence of any kind. Flying lessons with the Gryffindors had been a bit rough what with Longbottom falling off his broom and then Malfoy and Finnegan getting into an argument, but luckily things hadn’t gotten too out of hand.</p>
<p>The only class he hadn’t had his first lesson in yet was a double period Potions with the Gryffindors. Hermione and Ron had their Potions lesson together the day before, and the two gave wildly different accounts of the class. Ron had complained that Professor Snape was constantly breathing down everyone’s necks and scaring the Hufflepuffs half to death. Hermione, on the other hand, had described Snape as “knowledgeable but standoffish”. Harry hoped her description would prove to be the more accurate one.</p>
<p>Potions wasn’t the only thing Harry was anxious about today. He’d received a letter from Hagrid during breakfast, inviting him down to his house for afternoon tea. Harry had been rather wary of Hagrid ever since the man’s odd demeanor at the Welcoming Feast, but he supposed this invitation was meant to be a way of smoothing things over. Still, he couldn’t help but worry.</p>
<p>“Come on,” Draco whined as he waited for Harry to shove the last bite of toast into his mouth. “Uncle Sev will kill me if I’m late to Potions. He specifically said he wouldn’t tolerate any nonsense from me just because we know each other.” </p>
<p>“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Harry grumbled through his full mouth.</p>
<p>Allowing himself to be dragged around by Draco had become Harry’s preferred way of getting to class. Even if he’d had a map, he wouldn’t have been able to find his way around the castle half as quick as Draco could. He’d have to ask Draco how he did it one of these days. He couldn’t very well let Draco to escort him to every single class for the next seven years.</p>
<p>Soon enough, the two boys made it to the Potions classroom in the dungeons. They found an open workbench in the second row and sat down together. It was the perfect spot. The front row was for teachers’ pets and the last row was for slackers. But the second row was the perfect spot to show a respectful level of dedication to the class. At least, that’s what Draco said. Harry had no reason to doubt him.</p>
<p>Professor Snape was already standing behind his desk. His black eyes surveyed the room with an almost predatory gleam, looking far more like a hawk in search of prey than the “dungeon bat” nickname Harry had heard from older students. It was rather unnerving, but for some reason that only made Harry want to impress him more.</p>
<p>Harry still hadn’t asked Professor Snape about his mother, and Professor Snape hadn’t mentioned her. There were plenty of questions he wanted to ask the stern-faced potions master—he just didn’t know how to go about it. Asking your teacher about your dead mother that he went to school with wasn’t exactly the sort of conversation most people were prepared to have.</p>
<p>Dismissing his questions until a time where he could conceivably ask them, Harry turned his attention to the room around him. It didn’t take long for the rest of the seats to fill in. There were a few stragglers who barely made it on time. One girl—a Gryffindor called Parvati Patil—had even come in late, earning a scowl from their Potions professor.</p>
<p><i>“There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class, </i> Professor Snape announced as soon as everyone had taken their seats. <i>As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few…”</i> Professor Snape glanced over at Harry and Draco’s workbench, <i>“who possess the predisposition... I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.”</i></p>
<p>Harry hung on every word Professor Snape uttered. Hermione had said the man was knowledgeable, but she’d failed to mention that he was also a brilliant orator. Harry got the feeling that the professor’s smooth, baritone voice could talk someone into willingly jumping off a cliff if he wanted them to.</p>
<p>“Mr. Potter,” Professor Snape called. <i>”Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”</i></p>
<p>“Draught of the Living Death, Sir,” Harry answered easily. It hadn’t been in their required textbook since such a potion was far too dangerous for eleven year olds to brew, but there had been an excerpt about it in the book he’d found about proper safety for handling potion ingredients. He was glad to see that his extra purchase proved to be a worthwhile investment.</p>
<p>Surprise flashed over Professor Snape’s expression for just a moment before he returned to his usual dour mask. “Impressive, Mr. Potter. I take it you purchased a copy of <i>Proper Potions Preparation: Volume I</i>?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Sir.”</p>
<p>“I’ve been trying to get that book added to the first year required reading for over a decade now, but we’re under a strict one textbook per school year policy. Five points to Slytherin for initiative.” The professor looked around at the rest of the class. “You would all benefit from following Mr. Potter’s lead and getting your hands on a copy of <i>Proper Potions Preparation: Volume I</i>.”</p>
<p>Harry beamed at the praise. It was such a relief to finally be permitted to show his intelligence without getting punished for upstaging Dudley. He hoped Professor Snape would call on him during every class.</p>
<p>“Mr. Finnegan,” Professor Snape drawled, turning his attention to a Gryffindor with a buzz cut. “Where might one find a bezoar?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, Sir,” Finnegan admitted.</p>
<p>“Pity. Mr. Malfoy?”</p>
<p>Draco grinned. He was pleased to have been asked a question that <i>could</i> be answered by reading their required textbook. “In the stomach of a goat, Sir.”</p>
<p>“And do you know what bezoar is used for, Mr. Malfoy?”</p>
<p>“It’s an antidote for most poisons.”</p>
<p>“Very good. Two points to Slytherin, one for each question.” He arched a dark eyebrow as he locked eyes with a chubby, nervous looking blonde boy in a Gryffindor tie. “Mr. Longbottom, what’s the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”</p>
<p>The initial fear of being called on melted from Longbottom’s expression. “Th-there isn’t one, Sir. They’re the same plant. It also goes by aconite. Um, Sir.”</p>
<p>“One point to Gryffindor, Longbottom,” Professor Snape said, looking as though it pained him to say such a thing. “It’s good to see that at least <i>someone</i> in your year will be a credit to your house.”</p>
<p>Most of the Slytherins and even a few Gryffindors snickered at the snide comment, while Finnegan’s face went almost the exact shade of red as the fire he’d accidentally started in Charms the other day.</p>
<p>Once the class calmed down, Professor Snape announced: “Today, you will all attempt to brew Cure For Boils. The instructions are on page six of your textbooks. Begin.”</p>
<p>Harry and Draco quickly came up with a plan for working efficiently and got started on their potion. Draco took up the task of ingredient preparation due to his previous experience, while Harry read over the directions and manned the potion. It took no time at all for the two to find their rhythm.</p>
<p>“How’d you know to get that potion preparation book?” Draco asked halfway through preparing the porcupine quills. “I didn’t even think of that, and Professor Snape has been giving me summer lessons since I was seven.”</p>
<p>Harry shrugged. “I didn’t, really. It’s just that I looked through our textbook and noticed that it didn’t explain much of anything beyond the recipes. I got the feeling that I was missing something important, so I went back to Flourish and Blotts to see if I could find a book on preparation basics.” He rubbed the back of his neck. He felt a bit awkward trying to get out his rambling explanation.  “Must’ve been luck that I picked up the right book.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Potter, are you suggesting that it was mere coincidence that led you to be prepared for my class?”</p>
<p>Harry jumped at the sound of Professor Snape’s voice. He hadn’t even heard the professor sneak up behind them.</p>
<p>“I suppose so, Sir,” he admitted, his cheeks tinged pink from embarrassment. “I wasn’t sure if this was all common knowledge or not, and I didn’t want to look like an idiot just because I didn’t grow up in the wizarding world.”</p>
<p>Professor Snape opened his mouth to reply when—</p>
<p>
  <i>BANG!</i>
</p>
<p>Harry—and just about everyone else in the room—whipped around to find the source of the explosion. It came in the form of a melted cauldron, a half-done potion oozing down the side of a workbench, and a panicked Finnegan and Longbottom trying in vain to salvage the disaster.</p>
<p>“Finnegan! Was it not enough to come into class without having bothered to open a book?” Professor Snape seethed. “Did you think you could ignore the basic instruction written right in front of your face?”</p>
<p>“Sir, I—”</p>
<p>But Professor Snape wasn’t listening. He looked around the room until he set his sights on Harry. “Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, I see you’ve both finished your potion. Bottle it up and escort Mr. Longbottom to the Hospital Wing. Perhaps on the way there, one of you can tell Mr. Longbottom where to find information on the proper handling of porcupine quills.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Sir,” Harry and Draco both replied.</p>
<p>Draco bottled up their potion while Harry helped to escort a still startled Longbottom away from the disaster zone his workbench had become.</p>
<p>The three boys were out the door and halfway down the hall before Harry realized that he and Draco had just absconded with the Gryffindor boy without any input from him whatsoever. They hadn’t even thought to ask after his current condition.</p>
<p>“Are you alright, Longbottom?” Harry asked a bit belatedly. “You don’t need to lean on us or anything for support, do you?”</p>
<p>Longbottom shook his head. “N-no, nothing like that. It’s just my hands. It feels like someone poured boiling hot water on them.”</p>
<p>“I’ve been there,” Harry sympathized, only to realize he’d confessed to more than he’d intended to in those three words. He just hoped no one would ask him to elaborate.</p>
<p>“How’d that explosion happen anyway?” Draco asked. “In every class we’ve shared so far, you’ve been dead on with the theory—even if you do have shaky wandwork. You’d think Potions would be the sort of class you’d excel in.”</p>
<p>Longbottom’s cheeks flushed red. “It was going well at first, but Seamus kept trying to take over everything. Eventually I just stopped fighting and let him.”</p>
<p>“But he’s a disaster!” Draco exclaimed.</p>
<p>“Better than me.”</p>
<p>Draco scoffed. “Not by half. You may struggle with practical application, but at least you don’t blow everything up like that maniac.” </p>
<p>“Struggle?” Longbottom repeated, his voice louder and firmer than Harry had heard it before. “I’m pathetic at it!” He shuddered. “Maybe my family was right. Maybe I really am just a squib.”</p>
<p>Harry didn’t know what a squib was, but Draco took geat offense to the word.</p>
<p>“They told you that you were a squib? No wonder you don’t have any confidence,” Draco declared without any tact whatsoever. “Honestly, doesn’t anyone in your family understand the importance of intent in magic? Doubting yourself all the time is only going to make it harder to cast spells. You’ll never be able to get the intent right.” </p>
<p>This didn’t make Neville feel better in the slightest. If anything, he looked even more distressed than before.</p>
<p>“I think what Draco is trying to say…” Harry glared at the blonde, “is that you’re having in trouble in class because you don’t believe you can do well. You just have to remember that you got accepted to Hogwarts for a reason. They wouldn’t let you in if they didn’t believe you deserved to be here just as much as all the other students.”</p>
<p>Longbottom balked at that. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re… you’re Harry Potter.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I am. Harry Potter. First year student who could barely make his matchstick pointy in Transfiguration. We’re all first years who have no idea what we’re doing. I promise it’s not just you.”</p>
<p>“He’s right, Longbottom,” Draco agreed. “No one in our year is excelling in everything, except maybe Hermione Granger.”</p>
<p>“Actually, Ron said she’s pants at flying,” Harry quipped.</p>
<p>Draco smirked, and Harry could tell he would be saving that bit of information for later. “See? Even Hermione isn’t good at everything.”</p>
<p>Longbottom seemed to consider their words. “You’re probably right,” he reluctantly agreed. “I suppose I could practice spells in the dorms to try and get more comfortable with casting.”</p>
<p>Harry gave the Gryffindor a reassuring grin.</p>
<p>“You’re not half bad for a Gryffindor, Longbottom,” Draco said, patting the boy on the shoulder.</p>
<p>Longbottom smiled shyly at that. “Thanks, Malfoy,” he said, his voice quiet and gentle. P-please call me Neville. If you don’t mind, I mean.”</p>
<p>Draco appraised took a moment to appraise the boy before deciding: “Only if you call me Draco.”</p>
<p>“Call me Harry,” Harry added.</p>
<p>As all three boys reached the doors of the Hospital Wing, they felt a little lighter. In that moment, their differences in Hogwarts houses and magical affinities didn’t matter. They were just three boys who were all a little bit nervous and insecure about how they were adjusting to their new school. And maybe, just maybe, they were all on their way to becoming friends.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i adore little neville</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Afternoon Tea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the gang has tea with hagrid. they get a bit of a hogwarts history lesson, and hagrid accidentally gives away more than he intended to.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if you recognize it, rowling wrote it</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In all the excitement of Potions and taking Neville to the infirmary, Harry had nearly forgotten about the note from Hagrid to meet him for tea this afternoon. It wasn’t until Ron and Hermione came looking for him that he realized they were already running late. The three of them, along with Draco, made their way down to Hagrid’s home as quickly as possible, not wanting the gamekeeper to think they were snubbing him.</p><p>Harry thought it was a bit odd that Hagrid didn’t live in the castle. He might not be a professor, but that shouldn’t mean he ought to live elsewhere. Surely there was enough room for one more person, even if said person was as big as Hagrid. Couldn’t he still be the gamekeeper during the day and live in the castle at night?</p><p>“Do you see that massive dog down there?” Hermione exclaimed once Hagrid’s home came into view. “Do you think it’s a hellhound? Or maybe some other magical type of dog? It looks far too big to be natural.”</p><p>Hermione broke out into a sprint, and Harry ran after her. He felt just a bit guilty when he heard Ron and Draco calling after them to wait up, but he thought it best to arrive with Hermione. He wasn’t sure how Hagrid would react to an overly inquisitive eleven year old stranger banging on his door.</p><p>When Harry caught up with Hermione, she was already waiting by the front door. “I was unsure if I should knock or wait for you,” she said, wearing a sheepish expression.</p><p>Harry knocked on the door, and was answered by a few uncoordinated bangs and a shout of “Just a mo’!” And then, <i>Hagrid’s big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.</i></p><p>“Harry!” Hagrid said with a grin. “Good to see you again. Come on in. You too, Harry’s friend.”</p><p>
  <i>There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.</i>
</p><p>Hagrid waited for Harry and Hermione to get settled before asking: “Alrigh’ then. Who’d you bring with you today?”</p><p>“This is my—” For some reason, the word “sister” came to mind, but Harry was able to stop himself from saying it. “This is my friend Hermione. Ron and Draco will be here any moment now.”</p><p>“Do you mind if I ask you some questions about your dog while we wait?” Hermione asked eagerly.</p><p>Hagrid chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Not at all, Hermione. What is it you want to know about Fang?”</p><p>“I was wondering what type of dog he was,” Hermione told him. “From a distance, he looked almost exactly like the hellhound picture in this year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. But when I got closer, I noticed his eyes weren’t fiery. More of a reddish-brown, really. Is he some sort of hybrid hellhound, or are there other massive dogs species like him in the magical world?”</p><p>Hagrid looked impressed. “You’ve got a good eye there, Hermione. No doubt you’d do well in Care of Magical Creatures once you’re old enough to take it. Fang’s mostly boarhound as far as I can tell, but he’s got a bit of hellhound and crup in him as well.” </p><p>“Crup?” Harry asked. He’d never heard of a crup before. Then again, his knowledge of dogs was limited to the monstrosities Aunt Marge would bring over when she visited. There were sure to be all sorts of dogs out there that he didn’t know about. And the more dog breeds there were that had nothing in common with Ripper, the better.</p><p>“Dogs bred with magic to have higher intelligence, more empathy, and a better understanding of human language compared to dogs in the muggle world,” Hermione explained, sounding rather like she was quoting a book. “Sometimes they have magical abilities as well.” </p><p>Before Hermione could launch into what was sure to be an entire lecture on the magical quirks of crups, there was a knock on the door.</p><p>“That must be Ron and Draco,” Harry said, rather relieved he’d only be hearing Hermione’s abridged lecture for today.</p><p>And indeed it was. As soon as Hagrid opened the door, the two boys joined everyone else with a half-winded hello.</p><p>Hagrid cleared his throat. “Righ’ then. Now that you’re all here, I wanted to start by apologizin’ to young Mr. Malfoy here,” he said, sounding quite a bit more serious than Harry had ever heard him before. “It’s no secret that your dad and I don’t get along, and unfortunately I was holding that against you at first. Ain’t fair to you for me to make assumptions like that.”</p><p>If Draco was surprised by Hagrid’s apology, he didn’t show it. In fact, he didn’t react at all. He simply sat unmoving beside Harry and allowed Hagrid to speak.</p><p>“And Harry,” Hagrid continued. “I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge when I saw you sittin’ at the Welcomin’ Feast with young Mr. Malfoy. You’ve got a good judge o’ character, and if he’s a friend o’ yours then he’s a friend o’ mine.”</p><p>Relief flooded through Harry. He’d spent all week under the impression that Hagrid had been unhappy with him for getting sorted into Slytherin. Learning that this wasn’t the case lifted a weight off his shoulders that he hadn’t even realized he was carrying.</p><p>“Thanks, Hagrid,” he replied. “After what you said about Slytherin when we first met, I thought you’d be disappointed in me or worried that I was becoming a Dark wizard.”</p><p>Hagrid looked downright scandalized. “O’ course not, Harry. I could never! There’s been a lot of bad eggs in Slytherin over the years, but I can’t hardly blame the house itself.” He shook his head, obviously upset with himself for making Harry worry. “I just hope they’re treatin’ you alrigh’. Can’t imagine they’re the biggest fan of you what with you being the Boy Who Lived.”</p><p>Harr could see now that Hagrid had been, in his own roundabout way, trying to warn him about the dangers of Death Eaters and their children that day they’d gone to Diagon Alley. Being sorted into the same house as a bunch of kids whose parents wanted him dead was a much more reasonable thing for Hagrid to have been worried about. Harry still thought Hagrid was being a bit ridiculous since none of the children were Death Eaters themselves, but he could see now that the half-giant had good intentions despite the truly awful delivery of his message.</p><p>“I’m actually doing really well in Slytherin,” Harry assured him, hoping he didn’t sound too defensive. “I don’t talk much to the older students, but everyone in my year has been getting along so far.”</p><p>“The only real problem is when Pansy starts droning on about fashion,” Draco quipped. “Honestly, there’s only so much she can say about the latest season’s robes before someone finally snaps.”</p><p>Harry snorted. He could remember all too well the death glares that Millicent Bullstrode had been giving Pansy over that exact topic just last night at dinner.</p><p>“Sounds like Slytherin’s starting to recover from their reputation during the war then,” Hagrid decided, looking both amused and relieved. “Back when I was a student, the worst you ever really heard about the Slytherins was that they were a bit vain and snobbish. But even then, most of them were decent. It’s a shame what the war did to that house.”</p><p>“What was Hogwarts like back when you went?” Hermione asked. She wore the expression of someone who was just dying to get out a quill and parchment so as to start taking notes. Harry wondered if Hermione ever <i>wasn’t</i> in the mood to learn something new. “And when were you a student? That is, if you don’t mind me asking.”</p><p>Hagrid chuckled fondly. “You’re an inquisitive one, eh Hermione? I suppose that’s why you’re in Ravenclaw. But no, it’s no problem at all.” He paused for a moment, as if trying to remember something. “Well, I haven’t been a student in about fifty years now, so a lot of it’s gone a bit fuzzy for me. But I do remember that Dumbledore was still just the Transfiguration professor back then, as well as Head of Gryffindor House. Minerva—that’s Professor McGonagall to you—she was two years below me. Went on to become captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team a few years later. Had a fierce rivalry with Reinhard Lestrange, captain of the Ravenclaw team.”</p><p>All four students were amused to learn this personal tidbit about their stern Transfiguration professor. It was hard to picture such a strict, dignified woman having a quidditch rival. Harry’s mind supplied him with the image of a teenage Professor McGonagall up on her broom cursing out some teenage boy in a blue tie, and he struggled not to laugh out loud.</p><p>“Headmaster Dippet was pretty old-fashioned, unfortunately,” Hagrid continued. “Had a real clear preference for the pureblood students, he did. Most of the muggle-born and half-blood students stuck close together because of it. A student a few years ahead of me even started a study group for all the other muggle-born and half-bloods, though it was more socializin’ than studyin’ most days.”</p><p>Hermione’s eyes went wide at the mention of a study group. “Really? I wonder why we don’t have something like that now. It’d be ever so helpful.”</p><p>Hagrid shrugged. “I can’t rightly say. All I know is it didn’t last long after Tom graduated.”</p><p>“Tom?” Harry asked.</p><p>“Tom Riddle. He was the one who started that study group. Nicest bloke I ever met, that Tom. He was in Slytherin if I remember correctly, and charmin’ enough that Dippet liked him despite him being a half-blood.” Hagrid smiled fondly at the memory of his old schoolmate. “Ah, but I’m sure I’m borin’ you lot by now. I don’t really know much in the way of history facts from back then. All I got is stories.”</p><p>Harry wasn’t bored at all, but he wasn’t about to push Hagrid into sharing more if he didn’t want to. Instead, the group fell into a companionable silence, the crackling of the open fire providing the only sound they needed.</p><p>Unsure of what to say or if anything needed saying at all, Harry decided to take in his surroundings. Hagrid’s home had seemed rather crude and unfairly small for a man his size at first—and indeed he still thought it was too small for someone so big—but was starting to see the house’s charm. It reminded him a bit of those log cabins some people stayed in on holiday that Aunt Petunia thought were “too rugged and uncivilized”. But it was neither rugged nor uncivilized; it was warm and cozy and was filled with all sorts of interesting things. The meats hanging from the ceiling. An old-fashioned wood stove. Whittled wooden instruments. And perhaps most interesting of all: a newspaper article lying on the table.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
<i></i><br/>
<b>GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST</b><br/>
<br/>
</p>
</div><p>Harry’s eyes widened in alarm. He was pretty sure Ron had mentioned something about a break-in while they were on the train, but he hadn’t heard any details about it sense. Curiosity piqued, he read on.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.</i>
  </p>
</div>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied that same day.</i>
  </p>
</div>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>But we’re not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what’s good for you,” said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.</i>
  </p>
</div><p>
  <i>”Hagrid!” said Harry. “That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might’ve been happening while we were there.”</i>
</p><p><i>There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn’t meet Harry’s eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the story again.</i> The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied that same day. <i>Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?</i></p><p>Harry and his friends didn’t stay long after that. Hagrid, it seemed, was no longer in much of a talking mood after the mention of the break-in. Harry wondered why. After all, it wasn’t as if Hagrid was the thief. Harry had been right there with him when the goblins had let him in. So why was he being so suspicious?</p><p>“Did anyone else find Hagrid’s reaction to the break-in a bit… odd?” Harry asked his friends as they headed back up to the castle.</p><p>Hermione sighed in relief. “I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Honestly, he didn’t need to be so bothered by it. It’s not like the two of you actually ran into the thief or anything. I wonder why he’s kept the article around anyway if it bothers him so much.”</p><p>“Well…” Harry began in a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Hagrid <i>did</i> happen to empty a vault that same day. Said it was Hogwarts business, and that it was for Dumbledore.”</p><p>“And you think it must’ve been the same vault?” Ron realized. “I’ll bet it was a near thing then, the two of you getting there just before the thief. Maybe he’s still shaken up by it.”</p><p>Harry didn’t think so, but he still told Ron: “Yeah, maybe.”</p><p>“Well I think all this business is just stupid,” Draco declared imperiously. “If someone was willing to break into Gringotts for it, who’s to say they won’t try breaking into Hogwarts as well? It’s almost like Dumbledore is daring the thief to come here.”</p><p>Hermione let out a dramatic huff. “All this Gringotts nonsense better not interrupt our school year. We have enough to focus on as it is without thieves and mysterious packages.”</p><p>“Do you think it’s some kind of Dark artefact?” Ron asked. “I mean, what else would Dark wizards break into Gringotts for?”</p><p>“That can’t be it. Why would Dumbledore want Hagrid to bring a Dark artefact into the school?” Hermione retorted.</p><p>Ron shrugged. “You never know. It could be something that Professor Quirrell wanted, maybe some kind of lesson for the older Defense students.”</p><p>As he listened to his friends speculate about the Gringotts break-in, <i>Harry thought that none of the lessons he’d had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now?</i> And what exactly was so special about it that Dark wizards would try breaking into Gringotts for it?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>work week's coming up, so updates are going to come a bit slower. no more 1-2 chapters a day, at least not for now.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Hermione's Not Quite Birthday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>hermione has a birthday (sort of). hermione-centric chapter.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i don't own harry potter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione Jean Granger was proud to say that she was a perfectly normal young witch, thank you very much. It didn’t matter that she’d only known about being a witch for a few months. She was adjusting to the news quite well. In fact, finding out she was a witch might have been the first thing that ever happened to her that made sense.</p><p>She had been ever so pleased when she’d learned that magic was real, and even more pleased when she was sorted into Ravenclaw (one of the four houses at Hogwarts, a school for wizards and witches like her). The beautiful blue and bronze tower with its impressive view and even more impressive private library was more of a home to her than the one she’d had in muggle London with her adoptive parents. Her fellow Ravenclaws were far more friendly toward her than the students at her primary school had been; even the Ravenclaws who didn’t particularly like her were at least civil. The only exception was Terry Boot, but all the girls in her year knew he was a prat. She belonged here. The other students knew that—and she knew that—because Hogwarts was the perfect place for perfectly normal witches to attend school.</p><p>However, being a normal witch didn’t mean that Hermione Jean Granger was an altogether normal person. In fact, there was a lot about her that was rather odd. To start with: the only part of her name that truly belonged to her was Hermione, while both the Jean and the Granger had been loaned to her by her adoptive family. She also didn’t look like anyone else, not really. She supposed she must resemble her real parents in some way, but she looked so different from her adoptive parents that no one would ever mistake her for a biological Granger.</p><p>But perhaps the oddest thing about Hermione was that she didn’t know when her birthday was. The orphanage had only been able to give her adoptive parents a vague idea of how old she was, so they chose to celebrate her birthday on the anniversary of her adoption. They continued that tradition up until the point where they could no longer ignore the strange things that happened around their daughter, and decided to ignore all of her instead.</p><p>Birthday parties for one became the new tradition for Hermione. There wasn’t very much about them that fit the term party—usually just wishing herself a “Happy Birthday” and sneaking off to the library to escape the isolation of her bedroom for a few hours—but it was better than nothing. </p><p>Hermione knew that her twelfth birthday was going to be different, though admittedly not by much. She wouldn’t be at home or at the library near her childhood home in muggle London. Instead, she planned to browse the Ravenclaw library. There were all sorts of fascinating books on topics that she had once believed to be fiction. She was sure to find a lovely stack of books to read.</p><p>Still, there was one tradition she knew she would miss. Every year for the past five years, she had checked out the same library book to read: <i>Matilda</i> by Roald Dahl. It was a story about a very bright young girl who loved to read and could make objects move around with her mind. Matilda’s parents thought she was odd and didn’t like her very much, but she eventually got to live happily ever after with a teacher named Ms. Honey. It was Hermione’s favorite book in the entire world. Though she’d never admit it out loud, a part of her was secretly hoping that she’d be rescued by a Ms. Honey of her very own one day.</p><p>She wished she could have her own copy of <i>Matilda</i> so that she could read it whenever she wanted, but her parents didn’t give her any pocket money. Someday, when she was a bit older and had money of her own, she’d buy a nice hardback version and cast an <i>Impervious</i> on it so that it would remain perfect forever. </p><p>“Hermione!”</p><p>Snapping out of her reverie, Hermione turned around to see two nearly identical redheads making their way over to her.</p><p>Fred and George Weasley—twin third year Ravenclaws—were really quite easy to tell apart if one paid attention to detail. Fred was just a little quieter, a little less freckled, and a little bit thinner. He was the strategist of the two, the gears in his mind always spinning as he anticipated every potential outcome to every action taken the duo. George, on the other hand, was the main executor of their plans. He had a larger than life personality that made everyone around him pay attention to every word he said. That wasn’t to say that he was any less sneaky or strategic than Fred, though. He merely focused his genius outward rather than inward.</p><p>Hermione didn’t understand why no one else was able to figure out which twin was which. It was all so very obvious.</p><p>“Why, hello there,” George greeted her, a Cheshire grin gracing his lips as he sat down at Hermione’s right side on one of the common room couches.</p><p>Fred plopped down by her left side and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “If it isn’t our favorite…”</p><p>“Ickle firstie.”</p><p>“The lone twin.”</p><p>“In search of her other half.”</p><p>“Ready to complete the set,” they finished together.</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes. When she’d first spoken to Fred and George during the Welcoming Feast, the twins insisted on calling her “the lone twin”. The name had stuck. She’d tried asking them what they meant by it, but the only replies she ever got were short, vague comments about how she had twin energy. As far as she could tell, this was their strange way of saying that they liked her.</p><p>“Hello, Fred.” She nodded to him before turning to his twin. “George.”</p><p>The twins’ grins only grew wider.</p><p>“You see…” Fred began.</p><p>“This is why we like you so much, Hermione,” George finished.</p><p>Fred nodded along in agreement. “You’re the only one who gets it right every time.”</p><p>“Even our own mother can’t do that.”</p><p>“But be fair, Forge. We’re not the only ones she gets mixed up.”</p><p>“And Percy doesn’t even look anything like Charlie.”</p><p>“And Ron’s certainly no Bill.”</p><p>“At least she knows which one Ginny is.”</p><p>“It’d be a bit weird if she didn’t, what with there only being one girl.”</p><p>Fred and George laughed at their own comments, and Hermione couldn’t help but feel amused right along with them. It was infectious, the laughter the Weasley twins’ laughter. One moment they could be whispering jokes between the two of them, and then all of a sudden the whole common room was laughing along without really knowing why.</p><p>“Was there a reason the two you came over here?” Hermione asked them once their laughter died down. She enjoyed the twins well enough in small doses, but right now they were interrupting her reading and she wanted to know how long they planned to do so.</p><p>George shook his head. “No, not really. We just thought you looked a bit too serious over here.”</p><p>“And we thought we’d say hello,” Fred added.</p><p>“Maybe try and cheer you up.”</p><p>“And would you look at that, George? Out little lone twin is smiling.”</p><p>“Indeed she is, Fred. Indeed she is.”</p><p>“Say, why don’t you take a stroll out of the common room and show that smile around?” Fred teased. “It’s sure to make someone’s day.”</p><p>Hermione resisted groan. Honestly, these two were ridiculous.</p><p>“And you never know.”</p><p>“It might make <i>your</i> day, too.” they said together.</p><p>“Now, if you’ll excuse us…”</p><p>“We’ve got plans with a real triple threat of a dog.”</p><p>Without further comment, Fred and George exited the common room, snickering softly at their inside joke.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>Eventually, Hermione ended up taking Fred and George’s advice to leave the common room. She didn’t take a stroll like they’d suggested—unless you counted the short jaunt to library—but something about the change of scenery was quite nice. The library was rather empty, so she was able to snag a seat by the one of the windows, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight as it shone through the glass.</p><p>She picked out an impressive collection of books to read through while she enjoyed her cozy little window seat. She’d given up long ago on finding any parselmagic books in the Hogwarts library, but there were still plenty of other fascinating topics for her to read for fun.</p><p>Right now, she was quite interested in runic magic and had selected several books on the topic. It was a shame that she couldn’t start taking Ancient Runes until third year. She had plenty of room open in her schedule for the class, and she knew she’d be able to handle it. It was very silly indeed that she would have to wait another two years.</p><p>“Hermione!” Harry said with a sigh of relief as he made his way toward window seat. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”</p><p>Hermione looked up from a fascinating passage on protection runes to see a rather winded, flushed face Harry. He waved to her with his right hand, but his left was hiding something behind his back.</p><p>“You were?” she asked politely, even though she was far more interested in whatever it was he was hiding.</p><p>“Of course I was,” he told her as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He took a few steps closer and revealed the small, rectangular something he’d been hiding. “This is for you.”</p><p>Hermione gasped. It was a special edition hardcover copy of Roald Dahl's <i>Matilda</i>.</p><p>A thousand half-formed questions swirled around her head. Why did Harry have the exact book she’d been thinking about earlier? Why was he giving it to her? Was this why he had been looking for her? Why today of all days when she most wanted it? </p><p>“How did you know?” was the question that managed to convince her mouth to ask.</p><p>Harry just shrugged. “I picked it up at a bookshop near the Leaky Cauldron while wandering around muggle London over the summer. I’d never heard of it before, but I couldn’t stop thinking that it was very important for me to buy it. It felt like I just had to do it, you know?”</p><p>Hermione shook her head. “No, I don’t think I do.” She’d never experienced anything like that. She wasn’t even sure if she’d heard of someone else experiencing it. It sounded a bit like a compulsion charm, really, rather than an entirely natural occurrence. </p><p>“Oh.” </p><p>A heavy, awkward silence fell between the two children. Neither was entirely sure what to say next, and both felt as if they were the one guilty of causing this uncomfortable moment. It grew longer and longer—feeling like years were passing with each second—until it became difficult to even look at one another without feeling compelled to say something, anything, to put it all to an end.</p><p>“Well, uh…” Harry began, unsure of what to say. “Happy Birthday then. I hope it’s a good one.”</p><p>That took Hermione by surprise. “How’d you know it was my birthday?” she asked.</p><p>“I overheard you mentioning it after dinner last night,” Harry explained.</p><p>Hermione’s breath caught her in chest. That wasn’t just wasn’t possible. She had not, in fact, mentioned her birthday at dinner last night. She hadn’t mentioned anything about it to anyone at all. At most, she’d thought about it in passing and wondered if this year would be any better than the last five. Unless he’d somehow heard her thinking about it…</p><p>But mind-reading couldn’t be real. Could it? Then again, Hermione hadn’t known that witches and wizards were real until just a few months ago. Maybe it did exist in this strange new magical world of hers. Maybe all sorts of other superpowers existed right alongside magic.</p><p>There was only one way to test it. Feeling both curious and foolish at the same time, Hermione looked Harry in the eye and thought <i>Thank you</i> at him as hard as she could.</p><p>“You’re welcome, Hermione,” he replied with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just glad you like it.”</p><p>Hermione had to stop herself from gasping in surprise. Mind-reading was real! And her best friend Harry Potter was a mind-reader! She could hardly believe it, despite having just tested it herself. The strangest part was that he didn’t seem aware he was doing. Did that mean it was a skill one could only be born with, or was it possible to learn it as well? Were there ways to protect one’s mind from being read?</p><p>“You alright, Hermione?” Harry asked, and Hermione realized she must have been staring off into space. “You looked a bit lot there for a moment.”</p><p>“Never better,” she told him. And she meant it. This was the best not-quite-birthday she’d ever had. She had no idea how Harry had done it and she planned to research how mind-reading worked soon as she got the chance, but she was incredibly grateful that things had worked out the way they did.</p><p>Harry grinned. “I’m glad to hear it. Now come on! Ron and Draco are going to meet us in the kitchens for a birthday snack. Apparently the Hufflepuff dorms are right by the kitchens, so they all know how to get in. Ron’s going to show us, but we're not supposed to tell anyone else.”</p><p>As Hermione allowed Harry to escort her to the kitchens, she couldn’t stop thinking about how lucky she was to have a friend like him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Halloween</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>this chapter is exactly what you think it is</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if you recognize it, i didn't write it. rowling unfortunately is the one who owns harry potter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the thirty-first of October, and Hogwarts was buzzing with excitement. Halloween was finally here. The air was crisp, the halls were decorated in black and orange, and everything smelled ever so slightly of pumpkin. There was no where better in the world to celebrate Halloween than Hogwarts.</p><p>Harry, however, did not share in the excitement. For the first time in his short life, he knew the date of his parents’ death: Halloween. None of his muggle relatives had ever told him the anniversary of his parents’ murders. Aunt Petunia might have come after him with the frying pan, and Uncle Vernon would almost certainly have gotten the belt, and both would have shouted “Don’t ask questions!” while they hit him.</p><p>No one in the wizarding world had told him either because everyone assumed he already knew. Harry supposed this was a fair assumption seeing as normal families would have told their nephew information like that, but the Dursleys weren’t nearly as normal as they pretended to be. They were cruel, vile people who would do anything to maintain their image as respectable members of society.</p><p>In the end, Harry had learned about the murders of his parents in a book about modern wizarding history that he’d borrowed from Hermione. That was one of the few benefits of being famous, Harry supposed, as he could always look up facts about his family to make up for the fact that he didn’t know much of anything about them.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Draco had asked him that morning when he noticed Harry had been pushing the food on his plate around instead of eating it.</p><p>“It’s the ten year anniversary of my parents’ murders,” Harry explained. He didn’t mention that it was the first year he knew about it, though, because he didn’t want Draco to think he was weird—or worse, pity him for not knowing sooner.</p><p>Draco patted his shoulder stiffly in what Harry could only assume was an attempt at comfort. “You don’t have to go to class if you don’t feel up for it, you know. I’m sure Madam Pomfrey would write you a note saying you’re sick if you asked her.”</p><p>“Thanks, Draco,” Harry said earnestly, “but I think it’s for the best that I go to class. I don’t want to spend the day dwelling on it.”</p><p>Draco nodded, and the two dropped the subject.</p><p>Going to class, it turned out, was exactly the distraction Harry had needed to get through the day. <i>Professor Flitwick in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try ever since they’d seem him make</i> Padma Patil’s butterfly hairpin flit gracefully around the room in an almost lifelike fashion.</p><p>The class split up into pairs. Harry partnered with Theodore Nott, who had formally asked Harry to call him Theo earlier in the month. He had hoped to partner with Pansy because she was the best at Charms of all the first year Slytherins (and surprisingly patient at explaining at theoretical aspects), but unfortunately Draco had managed to pair with her before Harry got a chance to ask. Still, pairing with Theo was infinitely better than being stuck with Crabbe or Goyle, who had a tendency to become so forceful in their wandwork that it was hazardous to get too close for fear of injury.</p><p>Harry looked around to see who Hermione had partnered with, and shot her a sympathetic smile when he saw it was Terry Boot. Harry didn’t particularly like Boot, mostly because Hermione didn’t, but also because the boy was the sort of smart kid that had to make sure everyone knew how smart he was. Loudly. It wasn’t like when Hermione raised her hand constantly in class because she knew the answer to every question and wanted to earn house points for her answers. Rather, Boot liked to boast loudly about his marks to anyone who was unfortunate enough to be within listening distance. Harry felt bad for all the poor Ravenclaws who were stuck hearing him in their common room and dorms.</p><p>
  <i>”Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing!” squeaked Professor Flitwick. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too—never forget Wizard Baruffio who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself on the floor with a water buffalo on his chest.”</i>
</p><p>It was rather tricky. Harry and Theo had both managed to make the feather in front of them move just little bit, but neither of them actually lifted it off the table. Harry was sure it was something wrong with their wand movements since they’d both said the spell correctly, but he had no idea if it was the swish or the flick that they weren’t getting right.</p><p>“<i>Wingardium Leviosa!</i>” he tried again, testing to see if a sharper flick would help. And it did, though not by much. His feather had floated about an inch off the table before immediately falling back down.</p><p><i>”You’re saying it wrong,” Harry heard Hermione snap. “It’s Wing-</i>gar<i>-dium Levi-</i>o<i>-sa, make the ‘gar’ nice and long.”</i></p><p>
  <i>”You do it, then, if you’re so clever,” Boot snarled.</i>
</p><p><i>Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, “</i>Wingardium Leviosa<i>!”</i></p><p>
  <i>Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet over their heads.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>”Oh, well done!” cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. “Everyone see here, Ms. Granger’s done it!”</i>
</p><p>Boot looked furious.</p><p>Harry and Theo looked at each other, then Hermione’s feather, and then at each other once more. “Let’s try it Hermione’s way,” they decided at the same time.</p><p>By the end of class, both Harry and Theo managed to get their feather to float about a foot above the desk. Drawing out the ‘gar’ syllable like Hermione had instructed produced immediate results. They hadn’t managed to get the feather to fly nearly as high as Hermione (and later Pansy) had, but they’d still been successful—unlike Terry Boot, who had refused to listen to Hermione’s advice out of sheer spite.</p><p>“Merlin, Granger’s a nightmare,” Boot complained loudly the other Ravenclaw boys once class ended. “No wonder she doesn’t have any friends in our house.”</p><p>
  <i>Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face—and was startled to see that she was in tears.</i>
</p><p>“How dare you, you obnoxious prat! You’re just jealous that she’s smarter than you!”</p><p>Everyone, except for Harry and maybe Pansy, was surprised to hear Draco defend Hermione. It was no secret that both Slytherin house and the Malfoy family had a history of blood prejudice. To see a pureblood from one of the Ancient and Noble Houses come to the aid of a muggle-raised witch of dubious blood status must have come as quite the shock.</p><p>But blood prejudice was becoming a thing of the past for both Slytherins and Malfoys, though most people didn’t seem to notice. What truly mattered was the continuation of wizarding culture. Muggle-raised witches and wizards weren’t at fault for the degradation of their society like people just a few decades ago had believed. The true threat to wizardkind came from those who would sanitize their beautiful, complicated history and traditions for the sake of muggles that would never accept them anyway.</p><p>Draco had explained all of that to Harry not long after they’d gotten settled in their dorms. He’d wanted Harry to understand that, while some of the older students might give Harry trouble for his blood status, truly respectable witches and wizards wouldn’t care about his parentage. What mattered most was that Harry was willing to learn their ways and integrate into their society, rather than demanding them to change for his own comfort.</p><p>Hermione was just interested in integrating into wizarding society as Harry was, and had so far done a much better job of researching how to do that than he had. So of course, in Harry’s mind, it made perfect sense that Draco would stand up for a proper sort of witch like Hermione.</p><p>(It also helped that Hermione was Draco’s first cousin, but Harry didn’t know that.)</p><p>“Mind your own business, you Junior Death Eater!” Terry Boot said angrily.</p><p>Draco opened his mouth to argue, but Pansy put a hand on his shoulder and stepped between him and Boot.</p><p>“Junior Death Eater?” she asked in a sickly sweet voice that made the hair on the back of Harry’s neck stand on end. “Bold accusation for the guy who can’t handle being shown up by a muggleborn. Or was it the fact that she’s a girl that’s got you so upset?”</p><p>Every girl around them gasped, and then turned to glare at Boot.</p><p>“Is that why you hate Hermione so much?” Mandy Brocklehurst demanded to know. “Because you can’t stand a girl being smarter than you?”</p><p>Lisa Turpin put her hands on her hips and pressed her lips into a thin line. “What, did you think you’d be better than all the girls here? Even the Ravenclaws?”</p><p>“No, I—”</p><p>Terry tried to defend himself, but was quickly cut off by the Ravenclaw girls’ increasingly irate line of questioning.</p><p>Harry wanted to stick around and witness the chaos, but a hand on his wrist pulled him away. He looked at the hand’s owner and saw that it was Pansy.</p><p>“And that, boys,” she said to both Harry and Draco, “is how you win a fight in a single sentence.”</p><p>Harry and Draco gaped at Pansy, and then turned to each other. The girl was an evil genius. They just had to hope they never did anything to earn her ire.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>The rest of Harry’s classes passed by in an uneventful manner, though his mind was still on Hermione. She always appeared to have such unshakable self-confidence. It never occurred to him that she might be insecure about anything, least of all her lack of popularity. Yet she’d seemed so upset over what Boot had said. Harry hoped she’d feel better soon.</p><p>Between it being the anniversary of his parents’ deaths and being worried about Hermione, Harry almost didn’t go to the Halloween Feast. He wanted a bit of quiet, and figured that a dinner alone in the kitchens might be a better way to go. However, Draco had quickly dissuaded him of that notion, reminding him that he wouldn’t know how Hermione was doing if he didn’t go to the feast and see her.</p><p>And so, with that little bit of prompting, Harry joined a feast that he had no real interest in attending. The only thing that really capture his attention was how ostentatiously the Great Hall had been decorated. <i>A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black cloud, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had for the start-of-term banquet.</i></p><p>Harry cast several glances toward the Ravenclaw table, but he didn’t see Hermione. Pansy must have noticed because she told him, unprompted, that she’d heard it from Padma Patil who’d heard from Lisa Turpin that Hermione hadn’t shown up to any of her afternoon classes. Apparently, she’d been so upset by Terry Boot’s rude comments that she’d been hiding in the girls’ bathroom crying all afternoon. Pansy even added that she’d considered going to check on Hermione, but she was worried that she wouldn’t be welcome because she didn’t know her all that well.</p><p>“We’ll go find her after we eat,” Draco assured Harry, though it didn’t make him feel much better. He was furious that Boot had made Hermione cry.</p><p>Still, Harry decided it was best not to argue unless he wanted to deal with Draco’s nagging about proper nutrition. For some strange reason, both Draco and Pansy were very invested in Harry’s eating habits. He often caught them adding extra food to his plate when they thought he wasn’t looking, and Pansy never passed up an opportunity to complain that Harry was too skinny. He knew that if he tried to leave the table now, one or both of them would just drag him back and force feed him until at least half his plate was eaten.</p><p>He knew his friends meant well, but he still found it odd. The Dursleys had never allowed him to eat enough, and now there were two people in his life who kept trying to make him eat too much—although his friends insisted that a full plate was absolutely not “too much”. He wasn’t used to anyone caring. It was kind of nice, even if he didn’t fully understand why they were doing it.</p><p>
  <i>Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, “Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.</i>
</p><p>The Great Hall descended into chaos. Some students were screaming, while others were frozen in place, their eyes wide with terror. It took several loud explosions from Dumbledore’s wand to restore some semblance of order.</p><p>
  <i>”Prefects,” he rumbled, “lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!”</i>
</p><p>Harry searched for Percy, who was searching for Gemma Farley, who asked loudly: “What if our dormitories are in the dungeons?”</p><p>She received no answer from Dumbledore.</p><p>Gemma and Percy exchanged looks of concern, and then Percy adopted what some of the younger students called his “prefect persona”.</p><p>
  <i>”Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I’m a prefect!”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“No need to fear the troll if we listen to him?” Draco muttered, his voice laced with skepticism. “What, does he think the troll won’t attack us if he sees that stupid prefect badge on his chest?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i><i>”How could a troll get in?”</i> Harry asked as they climbed down the stairs.</i>
</p><p>“Who knows? Why did they let a troll become captain of the Slytherin quidditch team?”</p><p>Harry chuckled at that, but replied: “No need to be so rude.”</p><p>Draco simply shrugged. It was no secret that he thought their house’s quidditch captain Marcus Flint was a moron. He was big and not particularly good looking, and he lumbered around the school without paying any attention to his surroundings. He might be a brilliant quidditch player, but if he had a brain hiding somewhere in that thick skull of his, he certainly didn’t use it. </p><p>
  <i>They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions. As they jostled their way through a confused crowd of Hufflepuffs, Harry suddenly grabbed Draco’s arm.</i>
</p><p>“Hermione!”</p><p>“What about her?” Draco asked.</p><p>“She doesn’t know about the troll!” </p><p>Draco paled. “You’re not… you’re not suggesting we go look for her. Are you?”</p><p>Hary just shot him a look that screamed “of course I am”, and, with a groan, Draco nodded and followed his lead.</p><p>
  <i>Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped down a deserted side corridor, and hurried off toward the girls’ bathroom. They had just turned the corner when they heard footsteps behind them.</i>
</p><p>“Wait up!”</p><p>Harry let out a sigh of relief. It was Ron. He must have noticed them join the Hufflepuffs earlier.</p><p>“Can’t!” Draco told him. “We’re in a hurry!”</p><p>Ron broke into a sprint to catch up while the other two boys continued making their way toward the bathroom. “Is this related to why Hermione wasn’t in her afternoon classes? Is she in trouble?”</p><p>“She doesn’t know about the troll!” Harry exclaimed.</p><p>“That idiot Terry Boot was running his stupid, ugly mouth after Charms and upset her,” Draco elaborated, sounding just as irritated as he had when he’d yelled at Boot after class. “Apparently she’s been crying in the girls’ bathroom all afternoon.”</p><p>“I’m coming with you,” Ron told them in a tone that left no room to argue.</p><p>Quietly as they could, the three boys continued on their way to the girls’ bathroom. None of the boys would admit it, but they felt far safer up on the first floor searching for Hermione than following their prefects to their dungeon dormitories. The last thing any of them wanted was to come across the troll.</p><p>All of a sudden, Draco started gagging. “Merlin! What’s that horrid stench?”</p><p>
  <i>Harry sniffed and a foul stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kink of public toilet that no one seems to clean.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>And then they heard it—a low grunting, and the footfalls of gigantic feet. Ron pointed—at the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving toward them. They shrank into the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>HARRY!</i>
</p><p>Hermione’s shriek reverberated inside Harry’s head. It sounded as if she was screaming directly into both of his ears at the same time, though he was sure such a thing shouldn’t be possible.</p><p><i>TROLL!</i> Hermione’s anxious voice continued. <i>GIRLS’ BATHROOM! HELP!</i></p><p>“Hermione’s in there!” Harry shouted at the other two as he followed after the troll. “We have to save her!”</p><p>Not bothering to see if Ron and Draco were following him, Harry pulled the door open and ran inside.</p><p>
  <i>Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>”Confuse it!” Harry said desperately to Ron and Draco, and, seizing a tap, he threw it as hard as he could against the wall. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>The troll stopped a few feet from Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw Harry. It hesitated, then made for him instead, lifting its club up as it went.</i>
</p><p>Harry grabbed his wand out of his pocket. He didn’t know of any spells that could knock out a troll, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him from trying.</p><p>“<i>Petrificus Totalus!</i>” Draco shouted, but whatever that spell was, it did nothing to slow the troll.</p><p>“Troll hides are spell-resistant!” Hermione said, finally snapping out of her panic. “We’ll need to aim for the eyes and nostrils.”</p><p>Draco groaned in frustration. “Well I don’t exactly know any spells to petrify noses and eyeballs!”</p><p>“Or we just don’t use a spell!” Ron exclaimed.</p><p>“What?!” Draco and Hermione asked at the same time.</p><p>
  <i>”Oy, pea-brain!” Ron yelled from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn’t even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Harry time to run around it.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape.</i>
</p><p>An idea popped into Harry’s head. It was the sort of idea that was either completely genius or completely idiotic. But as the troll approached Ron, raising its club in the air to attack, Harry didn’t have time to second guess himself.</p><p>He aimed his wand at the troll’s club, and then, with a swish and flick, Harry shouted: “<i>WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!</i>”</p><p>
  <i>The club flew suddenly out of the troll’s hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over—and dropped, with a sickening crack onto its owner’s head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.</i>
</p><p>All four children stared silently at the unmoving troll, almost as though they couldn’t believe they’d managed to bring it down.</p><p>
  <i>It was Hermione who spoke first.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Is it—dead?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>”I don’t think so,” said Harry, “I think it’s just been knocked out.”</i>
</p><p>After another beat of silence, Ron tried to ease the tension by joking: “I guess this means Fred was technically right about us first years having to fight a troll.”</p><p>“I’ll be sure to tell him you said so once I get back to Ravenclaw tower,” Hermione quipped.</p><p>“Please don’t.”</p><p>
  <i>A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the four of them look up. They hadn’t realized what a racket they’d been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll’s roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.</i>
</p><p><i>Snape bent over the troll. McGonagall was looking at the four students. Harry had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white.</i> All hopes that they could make their way back to their dorms without a fuss quickly faded from Harry’s mind.</p><p>
  <i>”What on earth were you thinking of?” said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Why aren’t you in your dormitories?”</i>
</p><p>Snape gave Harry and Draco a withering look. They knew that their Head of House didn’t tolerate foolishness or recklessness, and right now they were guilty of both.</p><p>
  <i>”Please, Professor McGonagall—they were looking for me.”</i>
</p><p>All three teachers turned their attention to Hermione.</p><p>“Ms. Granger!” Professor McGonagall admonished the girl. “Why on earth would they need to do such a thing.”</p><p>“Terry Boot was really mean to me after Charms, and I, well…” Hermione sniffed, acting far more upset now than she had while coming face to face with the troll. “I hate to admit it, but it really got to me and I’ve been in here crying ever since. I didn’t even know about the troll until it came in here. If Harry, Ron, and Draco hadn’t come looking for me, I’d probably be dead.”</p><p>Professor McGonagall looked like she didn’t quite believe Hermione, but Professor Snape sighed and said, “I take it this has something to do with why all the first year Slytherin girls haven’t stopped gossiping all evening about how Mr. Boot is a misogynist.”</p><p>“Yes, Sir,” Draco replied. “Pansy heard what he said and called him out on it. She was rather offended on Hermione’s behalf.”</p><p>“Did she really?” Hermione asked, sounding pleasantly surprised. “Can you tell her ‘thanks’ for me? That was really nice of her.”</p><p>Draco smiled. “Of course, Hermione.”</p><p><i>”Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could take on a fully grown mountain troll. You each win five points for your respective houses. Dumbledore will be informed of this.,”</i> Professor McGonagall decided, though she didn’t seem particularly happy about it. “But next time, please get a teacher or a prefect.”</p><p>“Next time?” Harry asked before he could stop himself. “Are trolls a common occurrence at Hogwarts?”</p><p>“Mr. Potter,” Professor Snape warned in a tone that meant he was on the verge of deducting those five house points Harry had just earned.</p><p>Harry ducked his head, trying to look remorseful despite not feeling that way at all. “Sorry, Professor.”</p><p>“And Ms. Granger?” Professor McGonagall asked.</p><p>“Yes, Professor?”</p><p>“Next time you get worked up into such a state, please consider going to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomphrey is able to give small doses of calming draughts to distressed students, and she’s also well-versed in stress-reducing techniques. You would do well to take advantage of such a resource.”</p><p>Hermione’s eyes went wide at that. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I had no idea that was an option. Thank you so much, Professor.”</p><p>“Now. All of you, back to your dorms. The other students are finishing the feast in their common rooms.”</p><p>The students nodded in affirmative and split up, Harry and Draco following Professor Snape to the dungeons. They had to walk a bit slower than usual because the professor was limping slightly, but Harry decided it best not to say anything about it.. He was worried that Snape had sustained the injury in trying to find his missing students, and Harry didn’t want that guilt on his conscience.</p><p>“For two students with marks that rival a Ravenclaw’s, you both acted like complete dunderheads tonight,” their Head of House said, sounding so very disappointed in them that Harry would have preferred the man yell instead. “Do <i>not</i> do it again.”</p><p>Feeling thoroughly chastised, Harry and Draco both mumbled out a remorseful, “Sorry, Sir.”</p><p>But Harry wasn’t feeling particularly sorry. He didn’t like that he’d disappointed Professor Snape, but that was nothing compared to the relief he felt at knowing Hermione was safe. If he had to, he’d do the exact same thing a thousand times over for very first friend.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Quirrell's Concern</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>quirrell talks to harry and severus (separately) in the aftermath of the troll incident</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>1. i don't own harry potter<br/>2. consider this your warning that this chapter may not have a lot of action, but it has a ton of information in it</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rumors regarding exactly what happened to the troll spread through Hogwarts so quickly that, by the end of the week, everyone in the castle had heard at least five wildly different versions. Students whispered about it in class while their professors’ backs were turned. The professors chatted about it in the staff room, falsely claiming that their desire to discuss the rumors stemmed from concern for the four children who had faced the troll.  Even the portraits could be found traveling to and from their paintings to gossip with one another about the latest theories.</p>
<p>Whispers followed Harry, Draco, Ron, and Hermione all throughout the halls—though none of those whispers had an ounce of accuracy.</p>
<p>
  <i>“I heard Potter beheaded the troll with the Sword of Gryffindor!”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>”Granger killed it with ancient defensive magic! That’s why she’s always in the library, you know. She’s researching things the rest of us can only dream of.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>”It was so brave of Malfoy to rescue his friend like that—and after defending her honor earlier that day, no less.”</i>
</p>
<p>And perhaps the most entertaining theory of all:</p>
<p>
  <i>”Didn’t you hear? The youngest Weasley boy took down the troll with some epic prank that rivaled even the twins’ work!”</i>
</p>
<p>The truth, as well as the aftermath, wasn’t nearly so exciting.</p>
<p>As soon as they’d returned to their dorms after fighting the troll, Harry and Draco received the scolding of a lifetime from one very distressed Pansy Parkinson. She yelled at them for acting like reckless Gryffindors and making her worry, and then pulled both boys in a too tight hug that it left Harry coughing and sputtering from lack of air. It was hardly the sort of glamorous reunion theorized by all the gossipers.</p>
<p>According to Ron, the Hufflepuffs had been equally worried about him—particularly Hannah Abbot, who was easily the kindest and most compassionate person in their year. Once his housemates were certain he hadn’t been physically or emotionally harmed in any way, they made him plate after plate piled high with desserts to celebrate the victory over the troll.</p>
<p>Hermione’s return to Ravenclaw tower had been far, far different than what the boys had experienced. Before she even made it through the door, she’d heard the first year girls shouting at Terry Boot that it was all his fault Hermione was missing because he’d been so rude to her earlier in the day. Once safely inside her common room, all the girls rushed over to make sure she was alright, asking about what had happened and how she’d managed to get back safely. And then, once the dust had settled and things had quieted down, Fred and George Weasley expressed to her their jealousy over missing such a wild adventure. They had even as gone as far as asking her to invite them along next time she got herself in a situation like that.</p>
<p>Despite the gossip, though, things for Harry and his friends remained mostly the same. They still went to their classes, paired with the same people for group work, and tried to study together (or rather, socialize in the library) at least twice a week. The only major difference was that Pansy had joined their group, quickly becoming a permanent fixture at Hermione’s side—much to Hermione’s delight and the boys’ abject horror. The two of them together were already proving to be a terrifying and unstoppable force. </p>
<p>Unfortunately, one of the things that <i>had</i> changed since the troll incident was Professor’s Quirrell’s demeanor. He’d become even more nervous, his hands shaking constantly and his stutter becoming almost impossible to understand once he started talking too fast. Sitting through his classes had gone from a mild annoyance to pure agony. Harry wondered if perhaps the other teachers shouldn’t have allowed him to help look for the troll. After all, he clearly hadn’t been handling it well.</p>
<p>“I can’t believe Dumbledore gave this nervous idiot the Defense position,” Draco hissed under his breath near the end of Quirrell’s lecture on the counter to the leg-locker curse. “How are we supposed to learn anything from him?”</p>
<p>Harry privately agreed, but he didn’t want to get in trouble, so his only reply was: “<i>Shh</i>.”</p>
<p>Quirrell glanced over at where Harry and Draco were sitting, and for a moment, Harry worried he would take away house points. Instead, he simply gave them an odd sort of look and resumed his lecture. They’d gotten away with it.</p>
<p>At least, Harry thought they had until—</p>
<p>“M-Mr. Potter, if you could stay after class p-please?”</p>
<p>Harry pushed down the urge to groan. “Of course, Professor.”</p>
<p>This was all Draco’s fault. If he’d just kept his mouth shut, Harry wouldn’t have had to shush him. Now he was the one who had to stay after despite Draco being the one who mouthed off.</p>
<p>“Good luck,” Draco mouthed.</p>
<p>Harry glared at his friend.</p>
<p>The other students quickly filed out of the room until only Professor Quirrell and Harry remained. It was a bit strange, being in the Defense classroom without anyone else there. Without the context of the lectures, all the strange objects and artefacts in the room gave off an ominous aura that made the whole place feel rather like a shrine to the Dark Arts rather than a place for learning how to protect oneself against them. </p>
<p>“Am I in trouble, Sir?” Harry asked, keeping his eyes on Professor Quirrell and forcing himself not to think about any of the dangerous Dark artefacts around them.</p>
<p>“N-no. Not at all,” Professor Quirrell assured him. “I simply wanted to m-make sure you were okay, M-Mr. Potter. It’s n-not every day a young m-man faces a f-fully grown t-t-troll.”</p>
<p>Harry supposed that, as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, it made sense that Quirrell would want to talk to him about something like that even though none of his other professors had. He also remembered how sick with fear Quirrell had looked when he’d saw the unconscious troll on the bathroom floor. Perhaps he should be the one asking Professor Quirrell if <i>he</i> was alright.</p>
<p>“I’m fine, Professor. Honestly,” Harry replied.</p>
<p>And for the most part, Harry was indeed fine. He’d gotten cut on his arm from a flying shard of sink, but it hadn’t been all that bad. It didn’t even hurt anymore. All things considered, he was doing rather well.</p>
<p>Quirrell gave him the sort of look that made Harry think that the professor didn’t quite believe him. “It’s okay if you’re n-not, you know. N-nothing wrong with being shaken up after something like that.”</p>
<p>Shaken up? Harry supposed he’d been a bit jittery after the incident—almost as if his body hadn’t yet learned that it was no longer in danger—but he’d hardly have described himself as being shaken up. After a good night’s sleep, he’d been back to normal. Did Quirrell not realize that most people weren’t nearly as skittish as he was?</p>
<p>“I’m not shaken up at all, Sir,” he assured Quirrell. “I promise.”</p>
<p>Professor Quirrell looked taken aback. “Well,” he said awkwardly. “If you’re sure.” There was an excruciating yet brief pause as the two simply looked at one another without knowing what to say. “But know that I’m here if you ever n-need to talk about anything.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just as he was about to tell Professor Quirrell the required ‘thanks’ and escape his creepy, garlic scented classroom as quickly as possible, Harry remembered the questions that had been in the back of his mind ever since the incident. He had been meaning to do some research about what had happened that evening, but if the Defense professor was offering… </p>
<p>“Actually, Professor,  there <i>is</i> something I want to talk to you about,” Harry admitted. “When Hermione was trapped in the bathroom with the troll, I heard her in my head screaming for me. I was wondering… was that some kind of defensive magic? Her being able to put her thoughts in my head to ask for help?”</p>
<p>Professor Quirrell stared at Harry, his eyebrows raised so high that they were partially hidden by his purple turban. It might have been a comical sight had Harry not been worried that the professor’s reaction was a bad sign. Was hearing people’s thoughts scream at him just another way in which he was different—another way in which he was a freak?</p>
<p>“That sounds like a m-mental link,” Professor Quirrell finally said as his eyebrows returned to their proper place.</p>
<p>“A mental link, Professor?”</p>
<p>Harry had never heard of a mental link before, and he had no idea whether or not it was the sort of thing people wanted to have.</p>
<p>Professor Quirrell nodded. “Yes, M-Mr. Potter. There are a n-number of different m-mental links that allow two p-people to share thoughts. The b-best known yet m-most m-mysterious is the t-twin link. It’s the only m-mental link that starts at b-birth.”</p>
<p>Harry nodded along. That explained nearly everything Ron and Hermione had told him about the Weasley twins.</p>
<p>“Some links are c-created,” Professor Quirrell continued. “Couples can choose t-to link m-minds in a m-marriage bond, though it’s rare these days. I s-suppose some things just aren’t m-meant to be shared.” He waited until he saw Harry nod along in understanding before he continued. “It can also be a side effect of the b-blood brotherhood ritual, which was b-banned a few decades back because it requires blood m-magic to be effective. Some p-people still p-perform the ritual, of course, but no one would ever admit to it n-nowadays.”</p>
<p>“But, Sir, what do any of these links have to do with me and Hermione?” Harry asked. As far as he knew, none of the scenarios Professor Quirrell mentioned were applicable in this situation. </p>
<p>“All m-mental links stem from an overarching branch of m-magic: legilimency. Legilimency is the art of pulling thoughts, feelings, and m-memories from another’s m-mind, or pushing your own into theirs. This skill can be innate, or it can be learned.” He paused for a moment, leaning closer to whisper in a conspiratorial tone: “I suspect that one—or p-perhaps both—of you are a n-natural legilimens.” </p>
<p>Everything that happened on Halloween night suddenly made a lot more sense. Harry would have to do some more research on how legilimency worked, but so far, that was the best explanation of what happened that he’d come across. </p>
<p>“I’ll bet it’s Hermione,” Harry decided with a hint of pride in his voice, always so impressed by his friend. “She’s brilliant at everything.”</p>
<p>Professor Quirrell smiled but told him: “Don’t s-sell yourself short, M-Mr. Potter. You’re one of my b-best students. Besides, n-natural legilimency is inherited, and Lily Potter was a n-natural legilimens.”</p>
<p>Harry felt a rush of excitement at the mention of his mother. He planned to remember this latest discovery about her for the rest of his life.</p>
<p>“But I don’t think I’ve ever done anything like that before,” Harry admitted.</p>
<p>“Are you s-sure? Do you know things about your c-classmates or teachers that they haven’t told you? Perhaps even things they w-wouldn’t want you to know?”</p>
<p>Harry considered Quirrell’s questions for a moment, and realized that he did. He knew that Ron felt like he was trapped in the shadows of his older brothers’ accomplishments. He knew that Draco loved his father dearly, but worried he would never meet the man’s expectations. He even knew that Professor Snape’s worst bouts of yelling were the result of fears for his students’ safety. But he shouldn’t have known. None of those topics had ever come up. Harry had simply <i>felt</i> them somewhere in his head whenever Ron talked about his brothers or Draco received a letter from his father or Snape went on a tirade about an exploded cauldron.</p>
<p>“I… I just thought I was observant,” Harry confessed, a cold panic running down his spine. He felt terrible about invading the privacy of those around him. “I didn’t mean to look into anyone’s heads, I swear. I didn’t know I was doing anything wrong.”</p>
<p>Hermione must have noticed. After all, she knew just about everything. She must have put it all together on her own, and then, when she’d needed his help on Halloween, had tried calling out to him in the hopes that he would hear her. And it was good that she had, but was it worth the cost of Harry accidentally learning the deepest secrets of everyone around him?</p>
<p>Professor Quirrell gave Harry a sympathetic look. “It’s alright, M-Mr. Potter. They were surface readings, yes? P-picking up feelings at certain m-moments?”</p>
<p>Harry nodded.</p>
<p>“Then you did n-nothing wrong at all. As a n-natural legilimens, you could n-no more control surface readings than you could your own heartbeat. It is simply a p-part of how you exist.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>Harry wasn’t entirely convinced, but he had enough sense not to argue with a professor. He’d seen enough of his Gryffindor classmates get in trouble for back-talk to know that it wasn’t worth it.</p>
<p>Professor Quirrell checked his wristwatch before exclaiming: “Oh, look at the t-time! You don’t want to b-be late for your n-next class.”</p>
<p>Without another word, Harry did exactly that. He had a great to deal to think about, and hanging around the empty Defense classroom wouldn’t help him one bit.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>“P-Professor Snape? M-may I speak with you for a m-moment?”<p>Severus Snape looked up from the papers he was grading to see Professor Quirinus Quirrell standing in the doorway of his office. So much for having a peaceful free period… </p>
<p>Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had asked Severus at the start of term to keep a close eye on Quirinus. At first, he hadn’t understood why. Quirinus had worked at Hogwarts for nearly as long as Severus, and he’d never done a single thing to warrant anyone’s suspicions. He was kind, generally well liked, and passionate about teaching Muggle Studies. Severus couldn’t imagine that a year long sabbatical could have caused any sort of drastic change in the young professor.</p>
<p>How wrong he had been.</p>
<p>Quirinus had returned from his sabbatical with a fake stutter, an oversized purple turban, and the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. He was jumpy and aloof and altogether not quite right. There was little left of the old Quirinus that Severus had known. It was as if he’d become a completely different person. </p>
<p>It took nearly two weeks for Severus to discover why. The Light-aligned, muggle-loving Quirinus Quirrell had developed a taste for the Dark Arts. After witnessing the customs of wizarding communities from all corners of the world, he’d been forced to realize that the British definitions of magical morality were too narrow and too rigid. There was nothing inherently evil about Dark magic. It was ancient and beautiful, and just like any other type of magic, shaped entirely by the user’s intent.</p>
<p>He’d also picked up a companion during his travels. Enticed by the promises of change and of power, Quirinus had willingly offered himself as host to the Dark Lord’s wraith. He’d broken into Gringotts to try and steal the philosopher’s stone on the Dark Lord’s orders, and now he was plotting how to steal it from the school without arousing too much suspicion. For the first time in a decade, there was hope for the return of the Dark Lord, and it was all thanks to Quirinus Quirrell.</p>
<p>“Enter,” Severus commanded.</p>
<p>Quirinus entered the room slowly and shut the door behind him, glancing every which way as though he was expecting something to jump out at him as soon as he let his guard down. It annoyed Severus to no end.</p>
<p>“It’s just us, Quirinus, and the room is heavily warded for privacy. You may speak freely.”</p>
<p>Quirinus’ posture straightened and confidence washed over his features as he dropped the terrified Defense teacher act. “Our Lord wishes for us to discuss his son.”</p>
<p>Severus responded with a terse nod. He’d been expecting this conversation ever since the troll incident. The only surprise was that Quirinus had not mentioned Hermione as well.</p>
<p>“I kept Hydrus after class today to talk about the troll incident,” Quirinus began, keeping his tone light despite the topic. “He seemed calm, almost unusually so, while recounting an experience that would leave even fully trained wizards shaken.”</p>
<p>Severus sighed. “I noticed that as well when I walked him back to the Slytherin dormitories that night. It’s almost as if he doesn’t understand how much danger he was really in.”</p>
<p>“Or that he simply doesn’t care about his own safety,” Qurinus added darkly.</p>
<p>It wasn’t the sort of behavior either man expected of the Dark Lord’s son. Rodolphus Lestrange had been notoriously reckless, and there had never been a time in Bellatrix’s life where she didn’t have at least a touch of the Black family’s insanity. Yet neither Quirinus nor Severus believed that Hydrus’ reaction to the troll was a result of whatever trace amounts of instability he may have inherited from his other two parents. Both men feared something far more sinister was at play.</p>
<p>“I did learn something quite promising during our little chat, though,” Quirinus continued, not wanting to dwell on that particular line of thinking. “Hydrus and Hermione have a well-established twin mental link. I had worried their decade apart from one another might sever the link or that Dumbledore might have done something to interfere with it, but I’m relieved to say those fears were unfounded.</p>
<p>“However, Hydrus’ prowess as a natural legilimens is much weaker than it was in his infancy, which worries both our Lord and I. The Dark Lord has shared memories with me of the boy as a baby, bombarding everyone around him with images of what he and his sister wanted from them. Now it seems as though his ability has been reduced to mere surface readings.” Quirinus frowned, momentarily lost in thought. “My best guess is that a binding was performed on the ability, but it was either incomplete or didn’t fully take.”</p>
<p>If it weren’t for years of occlumency and meditation, Severus might have lost the tight control he kept over his explosive temper. To bind another’s magic was the ultimate act of torture. Even the prisoners at Azkaban weren’t subjected to the horrid practice. Bindings harmed the very magical core, and as such, could lead to pain, chronic health problems, or even death depending on how complete of a job the caster had done. Severus shuddered to think of what other bindings might be on the twins.</p>
<p>“That reminds me,” Severus began slowly, already regretting that he would be the one to share recent findings of his with the Dark Lord. “There is a rather urgent matter I wish to discuss with our Lord, one that is in some ways related to this.”</p>
<p>In lieu of a reply, Quirinus closed his eyes. His neck stretched at odd angles and his face contorted into a series of pained expressions. This went on for several seconds, which felt far too long to Severus, as he watched on in a mix of horror and pity.</p>
<p>When Quirinus opened his eyes again, they were a familiar shade of crimson. “Speak, Severus,” spoke the the Dark Lord’s weak, rasping voice through Quirinus’ mouth.</p>
<p>Ignoring the chill that ran down his spine at the sound of his Lord’s voice and the fear over the man’s likely reaction, Severus told him: “Several of my year snakes have come to me with concerns that Hydrus’ muggle guardians have been mistreating him…” He hesitated. Giving the Dark Lord bad news was always a terrifying experience, but he knew he needed to press on. “Possibly to the point of criminality.”</p>
<p>Absolute fury overtook Quirrell’s features. “Explain,” he demanded, his tone so severe that Severus shuddered.</p>
<p>“Draco Malfoy came to my office on the first day of classes to share with me a few comments Hydrus made about his guardians not liking magic,” Severus began, both his voice and expression grim. “Now, you and I both know how a statement like that usually means something much worse, so I asked Draco to see if he could get more information.”</p>
<p>Severus had wanted to immediately take his concerns to Madam Pomphrey and demand a medical history scan for Hydrus, but he was worried that taking such a direct approach would overwhelm the boy. He also hadn’t had enough ammunition to force Poppy’s hand in the matter. Unfortunately, no accusations of child abuse would be taken seriously if the only suspicion came from the child’s friend. The Headmaster seemed to believe that child abuse was a private family matter and not something that warranted investigation, and preferred the rest of the staff to be as hands-off on such matters as him.</p>
<p>Beyond that, though, Severus felt guilty for not acting sooner. While he’d never fully believed Dumbledore’s assurances that the boy was well cared for, he hadn’t been as dedicated to locating Hydrus as some of the other Death Eaters had been. He’d told himself for years that it was because he wouldn’t have been able o do anything even if he <i>had</i> found Hydrus due to his dependence on Dumbledore for his freedom, but even that shouldn’t have stopped him. He should have never allowed himself to give up.</p>
<p>After a moment’s consideration, Quirinus asked: “I take it there’s more?”</p>
<p>Severus gave a terse nod. “Around the end of September, Pansy Parkinson knocked on my office door with questions about what to do if she suspected one of her classmates had an eating disorder.” His heart sank at the memory of the poor girl’s worried expression. “What she described to me sounded far more like someone who wasn’t used to having enough to eat, though, rather than someone who was purposely limiting their intake. I suggested as much and instructed her to encourage her classmate to eat a little bit more at every meal. I hadn’t pressed her on the student’s identity, but later that night I saw both her and Draco adding extra food to Hydrus’ plate.”</p>
<p>That particular conversation had nearly broken him. Ms. Parkinson’s older sister Peony had developed an eating disorder the previous school year, and she had needed a rigorous recovery plan to help her improve her relationship with food. Ms. Parkinson, it seemed, had grown hypervigilant in seeing the signs in other people.</p>
<p>“Do you believe these muggles were unable to afford enough food,” Quirinus asked with barely contained rage, “or do you think they were withholding food from my son on purpose?”</p>
<p>“I fear that it goes beyond merely withholding food, My Lord. I believe they starve him.” He took a shaky breath. “It’s the only explanation I can come up with for his… unusually small stature.”</p>
<p>Quirinus stared stony-faced at Severus, but his brilliant, blood-red eyes burned with barely contained ferocity. “Anything else?”</p>
<p>Severus nodded. “Just one more. Yesterday morning, Theodore Nott informed me that Hydrus had been bleeding when he’d returned from fighting the troll but had refused all offers to be taken to the Hospital Wing. He apparently told Mr. Nott that his injury wasn’t a big deal and that he’d suffered from much worse at home. Mr. Nott also added that Hydrus didn’t even seem to notice that there was anything alarming about making such a statement.” </p>
<p>The reaction was immediate. Jolts of violent, jagged magic lashed out around the Dark Lord. It was cold as ice and staticky, and it filled the room with an immensely heavy pressure that threatened to choke the life out of anyone who got too close.</p>
<p>“IF I FIND OUT THAT THOSE FILTHY MUGGLES RAISED A HAND TO MY SON—”</p>
<p>And then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the Dark Lord’s fury dissipated into an eerie stillness.</p>
<p>“Severus, where do these muggles live?”</p>
<p>“I am… unsure, My Lord. The house is under a modified Fidelius so that it can be found only by muggles unless one has the exact address.”</p>
<p>Quirinus considered this for a moment before instructing: “You will get that address, Severus, by any means necessary.”</p>
<p>“Of course, My Lord.” Severus agreed, already formulating a plan. He typically met with each of his snakes around end of term exams to see how they were faring. Perhaps he could convince Hydrus that it was necessary for him to have his guardians’ address for emergency contact purposes or something else of the sort. “Might I make a request?”</p>
<p>“Speak, Severus.”</p>
<p>“I wish to be the one to kill Petunia Dursley when the time comes.”</p>
<p>For years, Severus had been forced to put up with that awful woman’s anti-magic attitude. He’d quietly endured her hateful tirades directed at both him and Lily for years—even the ones where she’d gotten violent and thrown things. After Lily became upset the one time he’d tried to retaliate, he’d never again made another move against Petunia.</p>
<p>But Lily was dead and gone, and now Petunia was responsible for the suffering of his Lord’s son. There was nothing for him to lose should he go after her, and everything to gain. The world would be much improved without people like Petunia Dursley in it.</p>
<p>“You will do no sssuch thing, Severusss, unless it’s your desire to make martyrss of them!”</p>
<p>Severus flinched at the sound of his Lord’s hissing, the clearest indicator of his anger. Nothing good ever came from the Dark Lord’s serpentine stutter.</p>
<p>“My Lord?” he asked cautiously. Had he been too presumptuous in requesting for the chance to kill a childhood enemy of his? For thinking he had just as much of a right to kill that horrid woman as the parents of the child she’d mistreated? He could only hope that his Lord would not react too cruelly over such disrespect.</p>
<p>“As soon as you get their address, you will send an anonymous tip to the DMLE about a wizarding child abuse case at that location,” Quirinus commanded him, his temper just barely back under control. “Allow them to conduct a proper investigation so that we can extract Hydrus from those muggles’ care by legal means. We want to disgrace the Light, not give them another excuse to vilify us.”</p>
<p>Despite his disappointment that he wouldn’t get to kill Petunia, Severus found himself impressed by the Dark Lord’s plan. The loss of immediate vengeance was a price well worth the highly public and highly damaging news articles that would come out of a full DMLE investigation into claims of the Boy Who Lived being abused.</p>
<p>“And then as his Head of House, I would be granted emergency guardianship until the end of the investigation,” Severus realized.</p>
<p>The slightest of smirks graced Quirinus’ lips. “Indeed. The Light would lose control over Hydrus, hopefully forever. And if we’re lucky, the investigation will bring disgrace to whoever Dumbledore appointed to be my son’s magical guardian as well.”</p>
<p>“My Lord, didn’t you know?” Severus asked, a downright evil grin spreading across his face. “Dumbledore appointed himself as Hydrus’ magical guardian. It’ll be he who will have to answer for allowing Hydrus to remain in an unsafe environment”</p>
<p>Quirinus arched a suspicious eyebrow at that. “We’ll certainly have to look into how he managed to do that. Tell me, Severus, why Dumbledore? Do you know why Hydrus wasn’t given to whoever the Potters listed in their will? Or perhaps his closest magical relatives?”</p>
<p>Severus’ eyes went wide with shock at his Lord’s implications. Proper proceedings would have mandated the will be read and for “their” child to go with whoever they’d named as godparents. If no will had been on file, a blood test would have been done to discern the boy’s closest living magical relative so that they could take him in. What in the world had happened?</p>
<p>“Both godparents originally named for Harry James Potter are in some way incapacitated,” Severus said, an ice-cold sense of dread creeping over him. Alice Longbottom had become a permanent resident of St. Mungo’s just days after the Potters died, and Sirius Black was in Azkaban. “And all three parents of Hydrus Riddle-Lestrange are either presumed dead or in Azkaban.”</p>
<p>“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Quirinus pondered. “Within a single week, every person that Hydrus could have gone to suddenly found themselves incapable of taking him in. And Hermione? Abandoned in the muggle world without a second thought. It’s high time for her upbringing to be investigated as well.”</p>
<p>Before Severus had the chance to internalize what had just been said, Quirinus returned to his regular voice and said: “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to prepare for my next class. My third years have a pop quiz on redcaps today, and I n-need to get b-back into c-character.”</p>
<p>Once again, Severus was alone in his office. He took a deep, grounding breath and made it his mission to learn where Hydrus had been living for the last decade. The sooner he got that address, the sooner Petunia Dursley would suffer. And the sooner her suffering began, the happier Severus would be.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Christmas Morning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>harry wakes up christmas morning to discover some unusual presents. prisoners at azkaban read the newspaper. it's a strange morning all around.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>1. i'm sorry<br/>2. you're welcome</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Winter break was fast approaching, and the holiday cheer was infectious. Most of the students were excited for Christmas, though Harry had heard just as many greeting one another with the phrase “Blessed Yule”. And even though Chanukah had been several weeks prior, Anthony Goldstein had promised to bring back dreidels and gelt for his Gentile housemates after break.</p><p>Goldstein, it turned out, wasn’t the only Jewish student at Hogwarts. He was simply the first to be vocal about it. After word spread that he’d explained Chanukah to his friends in Ravenclaw, the other Jewish students became a bit more open with sharing their culture and religion. They were even thinking of starting a club so they could celebrate their holidays at school together.</p><p>Professor Snape had held check-in meetings with all the Slytherins shortly before end of term exams to see how they were doing and offer advice. Harry thought that these check-ins were a great idea, and was surprised when he learned from his friends in other houses that their Heads of House didn’t do the same thing. It was a bit strange to think that the dour Potions master was the one who put the most effort in being there for his students.</p><p>The only thing about the check-ins that Harry didn’t like was when Professor Snape mentioned sending progress reports home at the end of term. Snape had asked for his aunt and uncle’s address so that he could send Harry’s report through the muggle postal system—apparently the Hogwarts letters were automatically addressed and that information wasn’t kept on record, so Harry would have to write the address down for him. Harry had made the mistake of telling the professor that sending them anything would be a massive waste of time, and that he really shouldn’t bother. The Potions master hadn’t taken that particularly well, and insisted that he was still required to send the letter.</p><p>In the end, Harry gave in and wrote down the address to Privet Drive. He still thought Professor Snape was wasting his time, but there was no winning an argument with someone who could frighten an entire class of seventh years with a single glare.</p><p>Now end of term exams were over, he’d survived back-talking Professor Snape, and the Slytherin dormitories were bursting with excited energy as the majority of the students packed to leave for winter break. Harry, not needing to pack because he was staying, simply sat on his bed and tried to stay out of the way as his roommates bustled about collecting their things.</p><p>“It’s so stupid that students can’t go home with friends for winter break without their parents’ permission,” Draco said with a loud groan, flopping face first onto his bed. He turned toward Harry, the fat of his cheek squished against his pillow. “Wouldn’t it be better to let them go with friends instead of making them stay at the castle just because they can’t go home? It’s like Dumbledore’s trying to punish you for not having a family!”</p><p>This was far from the first time that Harry and Draco had this particular conversation. When Draco had first heard that Harry signed up to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas break, he’d all but dragged his friend to Professor Snape’s office to inform their Potions professor that Harry would be going home with him for the holiday. Unfortunately, there were rules against doing so, and permission to bend those rules fell above Snape’s paygrade. Harry’s name stayed firmly on the “staying” list, and since then, Draco had taken every opportunity to complain about that fact as loudly as possible.</p><p>“It’s not that bad,” Harry told Draco for what felt like the thousandth time. “It’ll still probably be the best Christmas I’ve ever had, all things considered.”</p><p>That didn’t cheer Draco up at all. “But the bar’s so low! Anything would be better than your horrid muggles. You could wake up Christmas morning to detention with Filch and still see it as an improvement.”</p><p>Draco had a point, but Harry wasn’t going to tell him that. His friend was dramatic enough without being proven right.</p><p>“But I won’t be spending Christmas in detention with Filch,” Harry reminded him. “I’ll be spending it with Hermione, and Ron and his brothers.</p><p>“Which is stupid! You should all be allowed to come to Malfoy Manor with me!”</p><p>Harry rolled his eyes. “You can’t just take home every kid with nowhere else to go for Christmas, you know.”</p><p>“Why not?” Draco challenged. “There’s plenty of space. I’d even put up with the twin terrors if it meant you, Hermione, and Ron could celebrate Christmas with me.”</p><p>It was Blaise who managed to put an end to the latest rehashing of this argument. “Draco, you wouldn’t be able to last two hours with the Weasley twins—let alone the whole two week winter break. Being in the same house with them would become your waking nightmare.”</p><p>Unable to argue with a fact, Draco stuck his tongue out at Blaise.</p><p>Later that evening, Draco made Harry a two word promise:</p><p>“Next year.”</p><p>Harry doubted Draco would actually be able to deliver, but with a smile he agreed anyway: “Next year.”</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>Once the holidays had started, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were having too much fun to care about not being at home with their families. In fact, for Harry and Hermione, this was a bonus that made the holiday even better.</p><p>With the school so empty, it was much easier for them to find places to hang out together without being bothered. They spent their time exploring the castle, chatting in abandoned classrooms, and getting chased by Filch and Mrs. Norris. All in all, Christmas at Hogwarts was proving to be a wonderful experience.</p><p>
  <em>Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly like muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron’s set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family—in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren’t a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.</em>
</p><p>Ron had offered to teach Hermione wizard chess as well, but she’d taken one look at the game, muttered “absolutely barbaric”, and went back to reading her latest library book. Still, that didn’t stop her from occasionally peering over the pages of her book to critique Harry’s terrible chess skills.</p><p><em>On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all.</em> He and his friends had opted out of exchanging gifts for this year because they hadn’t had the chance to shop ahead of time, but they promised to be more prepared for the following year. And so, when he work up early on Christmas morning, he was surprised to find a small stack of presents at the foot of his bed.</p><p>“I have presents?” he asked no one in particular, and then immediately felt foolish. Of course he must have presents. They were right in front of him. What else could they be?</p><p><em>Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was</em> To Harry, From Hagrid. <em>Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it—it sounded a bit like an owl.</em></p><p>A second parcel wrapped in shimmering green paper caught his attention. Inside was a note and a small box with what looked like a soft boiled quail egg nestled in some cushioning.. Confused, Harry read the note, but the message—<em>She will wake when you call to her - T.M.R.</em>—didn’t exactly clear things up.</p><p>“Good morning?” he asked the egg with uncertainty.</p><p>Nothing happened.</p><p>He tried again. “Uh, Merry Christmas?”</p><p>Still, nothing.</p><p>
  <em>MERRY CHRISTMAS, HARRY!</em>
</p><p>Harry jumped at the sound of Hermione’s voice in his head, nearly knocking over his egg.</p><p>Ever since Professor Quirrell had explained legilimency and mental links to Harry, he and Hermione had been testing how far their thought messages could travel. Their new record, apparently, was all the way from Ravenclaw tower to the dungeons.</p><p>They still hadn’t told their friends about the mental link. It wasn’t that they were trying to keep it a secret, though. They’d simply agreed that they ought to understand it a bit better before allowing their friends to bombard them with questions. Besides, it was a bit fun having something that was just for them.</p><p><em>MERRY CHRISTMAS, HERMIONE!</em> he thought right back, secretly hoping the volume startled her as much as it did him.</p><p><em>Breakfast in the Great Hall in half an hour. Wear your Weasley sweater.</em> Hermione replied a bit quieter.</p><p>Harry was about to ask Hermione what on earth she meant by “Weasley sweater” when he noticed a lumpy, squishy package. He ripped it open to find a cozy, hand-knitted sweater in a lovely shade of green with a great gray snake on the front. It was the best gift he’d ever gotten.</p><p>He changed quickly swapped out his pajama shirt for his Weasley sweater, and was amazed by how warm it was. He’d have to write Mrs. Weasley a thank you letter so that she’d know how much he loved it.</p><p>There was just one present left. <em>Harry picked it up and felt it. It was very light. He unwrapped it. Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds.</em></p><p>A note fell out of the wrapping paper, landing gently on top of the strange fabric. Harry picked up the note. <em>Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words: </em></p><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>Your father left this in my possession before</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>he died. It is time it was returned to you.</em>
  </p>
</div><p>
  <em>Use it well.</em>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>A Very Merry Christmas to you</em>
  </p>
</div><p>The note was unsigned.</p><p>Use it well? Just what was it, Harry wondered.</p><p><em>Harry picked up the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It as strange to the touch, like water woven into material.</em> He threw it on and went over to the mirror to see how he looked—only to find that he didn’t look like anything at all. His entire body had disappeared, leaving just his head floating awkwardly in the middle of the mirror.</p><p>“Strange,” Harry muttered to himself. He’d never been invisible before, and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it. If he was ever to put on this cloak again, he would have to make sure he didn’t look at himself so as not to be weirded out. He folded up the cloak and hid it at the bottom of his trunk, deciding that it would stay there unless he absolutely needed it. The last thing he wanted was to lose something that was capable of becoming invisible.</p><p>A knock at the door startled Harry. He’d forgotten he wasn’t the only Slytherin who was staying over break. “Harry, are you awake?” Percy called out as he knocked a second time. “Breakfast starts soon!”</p><p>“Coming!” Harry shouted out his reply. He placed the egg and flute on his nightstand, and rushed out the door, nearly knocking into Percy.</p><p>“That hungry?” Percy joked. “Oh, and Merry Christmas, Harry!”</p><p>Harry grinned at the older boy. “You too, Percy. But where’s your Weasley sweater?”</p><p>“Oh.” Percy suddenly looked very guilty. “I was, uh… I thought I’d wait until later to put it on.”</p><p>“Why? They’re super warm, and everyone else is going to have theirs on. Don’t you think it’ll look weird if you’re the only one who isn’t wearing one?”</p><p>For a moment, it looked like Percy was going to come up with some lame excuse to get out of wearing his sweater, but then he shut his mouth and muttered: “I’ll be right back then.”</p><p>True to his word, Percy returned just a moment later wearing an annoyed expression and a dark green sweater with a silvery P on the front. Harry didn’t understand why Percy was so bothered by it. The sweater looked quite nice on him, the green a perfect complement to his pale skin and ginger hair.</p><p>“Alright, then. Time for breakfast, Harry,” Percy announced.</p><p>Without another word, Harry followed Percy up to the Great Hall.</p><p>The Great Hall was decorated beautifully with massive fir trees and twinkling lights, but Harry’s attention was focused entirely on the three students in thick blue sweaters who were sitting at the Ravenclaw table. Fred, George, and Hermione had beaten him there and were already helping themselves to the incredible spread laid out before them.</p><p>“Oh good,” came Ron’s voice. “I’m not late.”</p><p>Ron was standing to Harry’s left, cheeks tinted red and sounding winded, almost like he’d ran here from his dormitory. He had his Weasley sweater on as well. It was goldenrod yellow with a black R and a badger on the front.</p><p>“Merry Christmas, Harry!” Ron said, still catching his breath.</p><p>Harry grinned at his friend. “You too, Ron.”</p><p><em>”Merry Christmas!”</em> bellowed George’s voice as Ron, Harry, and Percy joined the twins and Hermione at the table.</p><p>
  <em>“Hey, look—Harry’s got a Weasley sweater, too!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a yellow F on it, the other a G.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>”Harry’s is better than ours, though,” said Fred, admiring Harry’s sweater.</em>
</p><p>George nodded in agreement. “Hermione’s is better as well.”</p><p>Hermione’s only response was an eye roll.</p><p>
  <em>“She obviously makes more of an effort if you’re not family.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>”You haven’t got a letter on yours,” Geroge observed. “I suppose she thinks you don’t forget your name. But we’re not stupid—we know we’re called Gred and Forge.”</em>
</p><p>Fred nodded in agreement before turing his attention to his youngest brother. “I see you’re finally wearing yours, Ron. Only took eleven years to convince you.”</p><p>“He wouldn’t even wear them as a baby. As soon as Mum got him dressed, he’d spit up all over it,” George stage-whispered to Harry.</p><p>Ron glared at his older brother. “Shut up, George!”</p><p>“So why <em>are</em> you wearing your sweater for once?” Fred asked.</p><p>“I just really like this one.”</p><p>George arched a skeptical eyebrow. “And the fact that it’s not maroon has nothing to do with it?”</p><p>“Aww,” drawled Fred in a sickly sweet voice. “Is ickle Ronniekins excited to have a new sweater color?”</p><p>Eventually, the teasing between the Weasley brothers died down a bit, though it never fully stopped. Harry supposed that this was just the nature of growing up with siblings. He’d grown up with Dudley, of course, but that relationship had never been the type to give way to playful banter and silly arguments that would be forgotten just moments after they ended. It was fascinating to see the way loving families interacted.</p><p>Harry wanted to ask Hermione if she was just as intrigued by the Weasley family dynamic—seeing as she’d been raised as an only child and probably knew just as little about having siblings as Harry—but she was so focused on the book she was reading that Harry doubted she’d even hear him.</p><p>“Mail’s here!”</p><p>Percy’s announcement, as well as the group of owls flying into the Great Hall, took Harry by surprise. He’d learned that wizards still received mail on Sundays after that whole debacle with his Hogwarts letter, but he thought they’d at least give the owls a day off on Christmas. Then again, he supposed owls had no concept of holidays and didn’t much mind delivering mail any day of the year.</p><p>Harry was even more surprised when an unfamiliar tawny owl dropped a letter on his plate. Who on earth would be writing to him?</p><p>He opened the letter to find a small piece of parchment with a short, simple message:</p><p><em>Front page of the</em> Daily Prophet. <em>Consider it a Christmas gift.</em></p><p>The note was unsigned, but Harry would recognize Professor Snape’s spidery script anywhere.</p><p>“Hermione, do you think you could pass me the paper?” he asked. He was terribly curious about whatever it was that Snape had referred to in his note.</p><p>Hardly paying attention to anything outside of her book, Hermione uttered a distracted “yeah, sure” and slid her copy of the <em>Daily Prophet</em> toward Harry.</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>Hermione didn’t reply.</p><p>Harry flipped open the newspaper and—</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em> <b>MUGGLE-BORN CHILD’S MAGIC BOUND TO LETHAL LEVELS: PARENTS UNDER INVESTIGATION!</b> </em>
  </p>
</div><p>Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion. What did this muggle-born kid have to do with him?</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>Earlier this week, the DMLE received an anonymous tip regarding a potential child abuse case. The department followed procedure, and immediately looked into the long list of shocking claims listed in the tip. What should have been a routine house call quickly turned into a nightmare hidden within the confines of an ordinary suburban muggle home.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>Muggle couple Vernon and Petunia Dursley became aggressive as soon as they saw the Aurors on their doorstep, shouting insults and obscenity-laced threats of violence for the whole street to hear. Things only got worse once the Aurors managed to force their way into the veritable house of horrors. Immediately upon entering, Aurors found a boot cupboard with multiple padlocks on the door. What they found inside deserves a warning, so please skip the following paragraph if you have a weak heart.</em>
  </p>
</div><p>Harry felt like he might vomit. He knew all too well what was in that cupboard, and now the rest of the wizarding world did as well.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>A search of the boot cupboard showed that the cramped, spider-infested space had once been occupied by a child. Among the blood spatter and fingernail marks on the inside of the door were crude, childlike drawing, two broken toys, a blanket, a cot, and a sign saying “[redacted for the minor’s protection]’s Room”. That a child should be forced into such horrid living conditions is only made worse by the spaciousness and comfort of the rest of the home. It is clear that the Dursley home had plenty of room for a child and chose instead to engage in this cruelty.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>When asked about the contents of the cupboard, the Dursleys were almost proud to admit that they had forced their nephew—a young wizard orphaned in the war with You-Know-Who and a current Hogwarts student—to live in the confined space for ten years. They also ranted at length about the various punishments they’d come up with as retribution for the child’s accidental magic. The couple even went on to express disappointment that the boy still had enough magic to attend Hogwarts. It seems these muggles believed they could make their nephew’s magic disappear through violence and neglect.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>”The little freak deserved all he got and more!” shrieked Petunia Dursley when asked about her role in the abuse.</em>
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</div><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>The DMLE had thought their investigation was through until the Dursleys’ son arrived home from a friend’s house. One of the Aurors noticed a fading a magical aura around the boy. Preliminary scans showed that the boy’s magic had been bound to levels so low that it was killing him. Young Dursley was quickly removed from his parents’ custody and sent to St. Mungo’s, where he is currently undergoing treatment for hypothyroidism, kidney and liver damage, and as of yet undiagnosed cognitive symptoms.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>Said one healer: “Wizardkind can’t survive without a healthy magical core. If the Aurors hadn’t investigated, the child wouldn’t have lived to see the age of twenty, and he would have been bedridden and possibly braindead long before that age. His brain was already in the process of shutting down.”</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p><em>We at the</em> Prophet <em>wish the young Dursley boy a speedy recovery. Where he will end up after his stay at St. Mungo’s is unknown at the moment, but we are relieved to say that his cousin’s Hogwarts Head of House will be granted emergency guardianship as is protocol in cases like this one. As for Vernon and Petunia Dursley—one has to wonder if their future cells in Azkaban will ever be fair retribution for what they did to their son and nephew.</em></p>
</div><p>Harry stared at the newspaper article for a very, very long time, saying absolutely nothing. There was just too much to process. Dudley was a wizard. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were going to jail. Professor Snape was his now his guardian.</p><p>Speaking of Professor Snape—</p><p>That surly bastard had done the impossible. Nearly every year, Harry’s muggle primary school teachers had called Child Protective Services on his aunt and uncle, and every time the Dursleys managed to weasel their way out of any charges. The neighbors had even called the cops a couple of times, and once the cops had even taken Uncle Vernon into custody, but he’d been back and worse than ever within a couple of hours. Harry had long ago given up on getting out of that house, and now he was finally free.</p><p>The address! Harry realized that this must have been the real reason Professor Snape had been after it. He should have known that the professor would never actually send mail the muggle way. He must have needed it for the so-called anonymous tip.</p><p>Harry was torn between being furious that Snape had lied to him, anxious because everyone knew about the Dursleys (and might someday connect it to him), embarrassed that it was that obvious he was being abused that Snape alerted the authorities, and elated that he’d never have to return to Privet Drive. He ended up feeling all four emotions at once.</p><p>“Are you alright, mate?” Ron asked between bites of sausage. “You look a bit peaky.”</p><p>Harry wasn’t sure what to say. His tongue had suddenly become as heavy as lead. “I’m not sure,” he managed to get out, not failing to notice how distant his voice sounded. “My aunt and uncle were arrested by the DMLE.”</p><p>Hermione gasped and Ron nearly choked on his food. They didn’t even know the details yet, and they were already reacting more dramatically than Harry had. He was afraid to see what would happen once they knew everything.</p><p>It was Ron who recovered first. “But aren’t they muggles? What would they have to do with the DMLE?”</p><p>“They’d have to have committed a crime against a wizard for…” Hermione added before trailing off, her eyes widening as she connected the dots. “What did they do to you?”</p><p>“I—”</p><p>Harry couldn’t get the words to come out of his mouth, so he pushed the newspaper back over to Hermione and muttered: “Front page.”</p><p>Hermione reacted almost immediately. “That’s vile!” she exclaimed as her eyes scanned through the words far faster than Harry thought was humanly possible. “And nearly killing their own son just because they hate magic… some things are unforgivable. They deserve worse than Azkaban.”</p><p>“They what?” Ron squawked.</p><p>Hermione, it seemed, was incapable of sharing the details as well. Instead, she wordlessly handed Ron the paper.</p><p>Ron grimaced. “Please tell me you mean a completely different front page article and not the one about a magical binding.”</p><p>“No, that’s the right one,” Hermione said darkly.</p><p>“Blimey!”</p><p>The further into the article Ron got, the redder his face turned and the deeper his frown became. As soon as he finished reading, he slammed the paper on the table and hissed: “I’ll kill them. I swear I will. It’s what they deserve.”</p><p>“You really shouldn’t say things like that, Ron,” Hermione admonished him. “Killing them would be a far swifter punishment than they deserve. They’ll suffer much worse and for far longer if they’re left to rot in Azkaban, stuck reliving their worst memories day in and day out.”</p><p>Ron gaped at her. “You’re kind of scary, Hermione. Did you know that?”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><p>The only difference between Christmas and any other day in Azkaban Prison was the occasional shout that someone remembered what day it was. Moments of clarity were more common on important dates, despite the horrid conditions remaining constant. Even when losing one’s mind, it seemed that certain things were never forgotten.</p><p>Sirius Black was a good deal more lucid than the average resident of Azkaban Prison. He suffered from bouts of madness and dwelled on his mistakes for days at a time, but that had nothing to do with being in prison or being around the dementors. That was simply his natural state as a descendent of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.</p><p>It also helped that he was an unregistered animagus who could simply shift into his dog form whenever everything got to be too much to deal with.</p><p>Sirius knew that it was Christmas morning. He just didn’t care. It wasn’t as if there would be any celebration in a place like this. Prison, after all, wasn’t exactly the type of place that facilitated Christmas feasts or gift exchanges. As far as he was concerned, this was just another one of the countless days he’d be locked up in this hellhole for a crime he didn’t commit.</p><p>At least, that’s what he’d thought until a small, hyperactive owl flew through the bars of his cell window and dropped something in his lap.</p><p>Sirius looked down at the owl’s gift to see that it was today’s <em>Daily Prophet</em>. The front page headline was underlined with an arrow that pointed to a scribbled down message:</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>These muggles are Lily Potter’s sister and brother-in-law.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>Make sure the welcoming committee is notified so that they</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>can give their guests the deluxe treatment.</em>
  </p>
</div><p>There was no signature, but that was unsurprising. A little over three years into Sirius’ imprisonment, he’d received his first unsigned note. The sender had claimed to believe Sirius’ insistence that he was innocent, and had promised to work on getting him freed. Seven years later and it still hadn’t happened, but the sentiment was much appreciated.</p><p>Sirius’ only real clue as to the sender’s identity was that the handwriting was vaguely familiar, which meant he must have known the person well enough to be more than a passing acquaintance. He knew it wasn’t Remus because this handwriting was much neater. It couldn’t be anyone from the Order of the Phoenix either, as they would have all believed Dumbledore’s assertions of his guilt. That left only his estranged family members, Severus Snape, and possibly even Voldemort himself. Since none of those options made any sense, Sirius was sure that the sender’s name would likely be a mystery forever.</p><p>“The welcoming committee, huh?” Sirius muttered to himself. The so-called welcoming committee consisted of the foulest, most dangerous of the Death Eaters—better known as the residents of Sirirus’ cellblock. It had become something of a tradition for them to make every moment a waking nightmare for newcomers convicted of the most heinous crimes. “I wonder what they’ve done to deserve that.”</p><p>He unfolded the newspaper and began to read.</p><p>Being locked away in Azkaban with the upper echelon of convicted Death Eaters had, for the most part, eroded Sirius’ ability to feel revulsion. He’d heard the graphic details of Antonin Dolohov’s entrail expelling curse and its effects on the human body. He’d listened to the Lestrange brothers’ stories of killing muggles without remorse—including the “field trip” they’d taken Snape on so that he could murder his abusive muggle father. Even Bellatrix’s descriptions of the knife-work she did in preparation for blood magic rituals no longer turned his stomach. But none of that could have ever prepared him for the vile acts that the Dursleys had been accused of.</p><p>Children were sacred in the wizarding world, and as such, parents treated their children like the precious gifts they were. That wasn’t to say that there weren’t cases of witches and wizards abusing their children (something Sirius could attest to from personal experience), but it was exceedingly rare. That these Dursleys would abuse not one but two children in such horrible yet vastly different ways disgusted Sirius in a way he no longer knew he was capable of feeling.</p><p>“Bella!” Sirius shouted, hoping that his cousin was both awake and lucid.</p><p>One of the strangest effects of Sirius’ imprisonment was that it had vastly improved his relationship with his cousin Bellatrix Lestrange. As a child, he’d been terrified of his vicious older cousin—both her cutting words and cutting curses led him to steer clear of her whenever possible. Each year that passed saw his fear morph slowly into hatred as he started to view her as everything that was wrong with the Black family. She was too violent, too unpredictable, and too much of a blood fanatic.</p><p>And then, in November of 1981, both Sirius and Bellatrix were thrown into Azkaban without a proper trial. They were also both innocent of the crimes that had put them there. Peter Pettigrew—an awful little rat and traitor that Sirius was said to have killed—was still alive and in hiding somewhere out in the world. Bellatrix <em>had</em> gone out in search of the Dark Lord in the aftermath of Godric’s Hollow, but she han’t sought out the Longbottoms for that information. She and her husband Rodolphus had just returned from a search of an ancestral Slytherin property in France when they were picked up by the Aurors and arrested for torturing Frank and Alice.</p><p>Ten years of bonding over having been falsely imprisoned brought Sirius and Bellatrix closer together than they’d ever been pre-Azkaban. Without the context of a culture war and away from the manipulations of Albus Dumbledore, Sirius felt like he was seeing his cousin for the first time. She had unlearned the blood prejudices that had plagued her childhood and teen years, become a proponent of creature rights, and fought for the right for all magical people to practice their craft regardless of affinity. They’d spent all those years fighting against one another only to learn they had a number of goals in common.</p><p>“Yes, dear Siri?” Bellatrix crooned. “Are you about to wish me a Merry Christmas?”</p><p>Sirius let out a dry chuckle. “Not quite. I got word from the outside.”</p><p>“Your mystery correspondent?”</p><p>“Yep,” he confirmed, popping the ‘p’. “It seems they managed to track down where that bastard Dumbledore hid Hydrus for all these years.”</p><p>Shrieks and cheers reverberated through the cellblock at the mention of Hydrus. For ten long years, they’d all held out for any scrap of information about the elusive “Harry Potter” who seemed to have all but disappeared for the world. Some had even begun to worry that the boy had outlived his use to Dumblefore and had been done away with, but Sirius, Bellatrix, and the Lestrange brothers had never given up hope.</p><p>“Well? Where was he?” Bellatrix demanded to know.</p><p>A shout of “Is he alright?” came from Rodolphus’ cell.</p><p>“It’s…” Sirius wasn’t entirely sure of how to answer their questions. “He’s going to be alright. But as to where he was, well, it was enough to end up in the paper. I have a copy. There’s a note on the top that you should read for context.”</p><p>After a beat, Bellatrix ordered: “Pass it down then! I need to know what happened to my son!”</p><p>Sirius grabbed the paper and stuck his hand out of the cell. Antonin Dolohov reached over from his cell and took it. The inmates continued passing it from cell to cell until it finally made its way to Bellatrix.</p><p>Hardly a moment later, an enraged scream Bellatrix’s cell.</p><p>“THOSE FILTHY MUGGLES WILL PAY FOR WHAT THEY DID TO MY BABY BOY!”</p><p>Once upon a time, Sirius would have cringed at such a declaration from his most vicious cousin. Now, though, abandoned by the Light and left to rot for the crime of trying to protect his friends, all Sirius could do was bark out a cruel laugh. If Bellatrix was going to head up the welcoming committee for the Dursleys, he wanted to bear witness to her enthusiastic greeting.</p><p>This would be their first act of war against Albus Dumbledore.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Mirror of Erised</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>harry and hermione encounter the mirror of erised</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i still, regrettably, do not own harry potter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry had been in an odd sort of mood all day. It was odd in the sense that he wasn’t entirely sure what sort of mood it was, only that he was feeling quite a lot of it. He’d been that way since he’d read the paper this morning and learned that his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been arrested for child abuse. It was something he’d dreamed of for years, and yet, now that it had finally happened, he had no idea how he was supposed to feel about it.</p>
<p>There was very little about what had occurred that Harry understood. All he knew for certain was that his relatives were in jail and Professor Snape had something to do with it. Something must have happened for the professor to go to the authorities, but Harry had no idea what that might have been. In fact, that was the single most confusing aspect of it all. What on earth had it been that made Professor Snape suspect the things he’d suspected?</p>
<p>Harry wanted answers. He hated not knowing things, especially when they affected his life as profoundly as this had. And so, after the Christmas feast in the Great Hall for dinner, Harry found himself wandering through the dungeons in search of Professor Snape.</p>
<p>He had expected it to be more difficult to find his Head of House than it ended up being. Not in the Potions classroom, Harry had found Professor Snape in the second place he’d looked: his office. The door was ajar, and Professor Snape was so wholly engrossed in writing on the parchment in front of him that he hadn’t even noticed Harry standing awkwardly in the doorway.</p>
<p>A thousand conflicting sentiments danced on the tip of Harry’s tongue as he made the first step past the threshold. He wanted to thank Professor Snape for being the first person to ever successfully get him away from the Dursleys, but he also wanted to yell at him for lying. He wanted to ask his professor how he’d noticed the abuse, and force the older man to promise to never tell anyone that the <i>Prophet</i> article was about him, and even demand to know the implications of now being under Professor Snape’s guardianship. He had questions and comments and everything in between, all desperate to know what was to happen next.</p>
<p>What came out of Harry’s mouth instead was: “Progress report?”</p>
<p>Professor Snape glanced up at Harry from whatever it was that he was writing and pushed it out of the way, folding his hands on the desk where the parchment had once been. “I was wondering when you’d arrive, Mr. Potter. Come in. We have much to discuss.”</p>
<p>Harry entered the room slowly, making sure to shut the door behind him. He wasn’t exactly worried about being overheard—not with the castle as empty as it was—but he didn’t want anyone barging in during the middle of a discussion he would rather have in private.</p>
<p>He sat down across from Professor Snape, his gaze dropping to the professor’s ink-stained fingertips as he tried to think of what to say.</p>
<p>“I would like to start by offering an apology for not being entirely truthful in regard to why I needed your aunt and uncle’s address,” Professor Snape began, his voice slow and sincere. “Since muggle residences don’t have names that can be shouted into the floo system, getting the exact location to the Aurors was of utmost importance.”</p>
<p>“Why not just tell me the truth?” Harry asked, hating how petulant he sounded. He wanted Professor Snape to think he could trust Harry with the truth, not come off as a whining child who hadn’t gotten his way.</p>
<p>Professor Snape considered his question for a moment. “I feared that if I did, you might try to deny any accusations against your relatives and refuse to give your address. You wouldn’t have been the first student to do so.” He paused to assess Harry’s reaction before continuing. “I felt that any fallout from my dishonesty would be well worth getting you out of that house.”</p>
<p>A small part of Harry wanted to argue, but he knew deep down that Professor Snape was right. His first instinct would have been to deny everything. After all, every other investigation into his home life up until this point had done nothing but make matters worse. He would have assumed things would happen the same way they always did—with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon getting away with everything by convincing the authorities that Harry was a rotten little liar who wanted to make trouble for them by claiming all sorts of wild tales.</p>
<p>“I… I understand why you did what you did, but I don’t like it,” Harry replied, doing his best to keep his voice calm despite being a bit angry about what his professor had done. “Things that have such a big impact on my life shouldn’t be kept from me.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter, but unfortunately this won’t be the last time I fail to tell you the whole truth,” the professor admitted, though he at least had the decency to look unhappy about that fact. “Certain things are… not yet safe for you to know. Nor are they for me to tell. There are those who would not hesitate to pry such secrets from your mind if they suspected you knew.”</p>
<p>Harry’s temper bubbled up inside of him until it was dangerously close to exploding. He hated it when adults kept things from him just because they didn’t think he could handle it, and he wasn’t entirely sure he believed Snape’s excuse that he wasn’t allowed to know just in case someone tried to invade his mind. It seemed like an awfully convenient excuse, especially given how recently Harry had been introduced to the concept of legilimency.</p>
<p>“And who’s to say <i>I</i> won’t try and pry the truth from <i>your</i> mind?” Harry snapped before he could think better of it.</p>
<p>Professor Snape glared at him. “I have been practicing occlumency longer than you’ve been alive and have successfully kept secrets from wizards more powerful than you could ever imagine, but by all means, go ahead and try.”</p>
<p>In an act pure stupidity, Harry rose up to the challenge. He looked Professor Snape in the eye, mentally focused on the spell <i>Legilimens</i>, and pushed his way into Snape’s mind—only to be ejected with such force that he fell out of his chair.</p>
<p>“Now that we have gotten that <i>pointless exercise</i> out of the way…” Professor Snape drawled, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, “let us get back to business.”</p>
<p>Harry climbed back into his chair with a mumbled “Sorry, Sir” and waited for Professor Snape to continue.</p>
<p>Professor Snape simply ignored him. “Your aunt and uncle—” Harry noticed the way the professor spat out those familiar honorifics as if the words physically pained him “—will be going on trial at the end of January. Given the frankly disturbing news article that was published today, their being declared guilty is a safe bet.”</p>
<p>“Will I have to be there?” Harry asked. “For the trial, I mean.”</p>
<p>His stomach twisted into knots at the thought. As much as he wanted his aunt and uncle to pay for what they’d done, he worried he wouldn’t be strong enough to accuse them in person. What if they started yelling and threatening him, and he just fell apart in front of everyone? What if they managed to twist his words to make it look like he deserved what they’d done? What if he ruined his only chance to be free of them?</p>
<p>Professor Snape seemed to sense his concern. “Your presence will not be required. In cases such as these, the evidence tends to speak for itself.”</p>
<p>Harry let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding in.</p>
<p>“However,” the professor continued, “you will have to go to St. Mungo’s for a comprehensive medical history scan before the trial. It will show every injury you’ve ever had, as well as any long-term health effects that may have come from the duration of their… care.”</p>
<p>“I can do that.”</p>
<p>A medical history scan sounded much more manageable than testifying in front of the Wizengamot. Even if it ended up being some sort of painful or otherwise distasteful procedure, it would at least be done without the eyes of dozens of judgemental adults focused on him. Plus, there was the added bonus that it would be quite difficult for his aunt and uncle to argue with a document produced by a healer. They couldn’t very well claim that the scan was telling lies.</p>
<p>“Shall I make an appointment for you before the end of break?” Professor Snape inquired.</p>
<p>Harry nodded his head. “Yeah, that works for me.” He hesitated, a new question burning on the tip of his tongue. “Um, Sir?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Mr. Potter?”</p>
<p>“You’ll be there with me for the scan, right?”</p>
<p>“I will be escorting you to and from St. Mungos. Whether you wish for me to remain in the room or wait in the hallway for the duration of the visit will be entirely up to you.” He looked at Harry, eyebrow raised, as if he seemed to guess what was on his mind. “You don’t need to decide which you prefer right now.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, Professor,” Harry said earnestly. It was a relief to know that he didn’t have to deal with all of this on his own.</p>
<p>“Indeed.” Professor Snape’s expression morphed into one of agitation. “There is also the matter of Headmaster Dumbledore.”</p>
<p>Harry grimaced. He doubted this could be anything good. “What about him?”</p>
<p>“He has already expressed concern—” Professor Snape looked like he didn’t much believe it was actually concern that Dumbledore was feeling. “—in regards to the arrest of your relatives. It is highly likely that he will invite you to his office to discuss the matter in the near future.”</p>
<p>That was the last thing Harry wanted to hear.</p>
<p>“No offense, Professor, but I don’t really care about anything Dumbledore has to say,” Harry retorted. “He’s the one who put me with the Dursleys.”</p>
<p>Hagrid had told Harry that particular fact while they were shopping in Diagon Alley. Harry hadn’t thought much about it until he remembered that no one from the magical world had ever checked in to see how he was doing, that he hadn’t been allowed to handle his own Gringotts key that for some reason was kept by Dumbledore, and that, according to his Aunt Petunia, Dumbledore had simply dropped Harry off on the front porch in the middle of the night without even checking to see if his aunt and uncle would take him in. There were just too many suspicious details for Harry to ever feel he should ever trust the headmaster.</p>
<p>Professor Snape let out a put-upon sigh. “Be that as it may, Mr. Potter, he is still the headmaster and would be well within his rights to call you up to his office to ask how you’re dealing with the news or even discuss the matter of your guardianship.”</p>
<p>“Can’t you stop him? I mean, you <i>are</i> my guardian now, Sir. Surely you could just tell the headmaster that I don’t want anything to do with him.”</p>
<p>“I may be your guardian, but he is my employer,” Professor Snape reminded him in an exasperated tone of voice. “I could no more get away with defying his orders than you could defying mine.”</p>
<p>A terrible thought occurred to Harry. “He won’t try to make himself my guardian instead of you, will he?”</p>
<p>“No. There isn’t a single legal maneuver at his disposal to do such a thing.”</p>
<p>“And he can’t try to make some other professor my guardian either?” he asked hopefully.</p>
<p>“No, he cannot.”</p>
<p>Harry felt terribly relieved by that information. If he trusted anyone to be his new guardian, it was Professor Snape. He might not be a particularly friendly person, but he at least seemed to genuinely care about Harry’s safety. That was more than he could say about any other adult he’d ever met.</p>
<p>“I have one last question, Professor,” Harry said even though it was more of a pressing concern than a question. “If you don’t mind, I mean.”</p>
<p>Professor Snape inclined his head. “Yes, Mr. Potter?”</p>
<p>“Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has my Gringotts vault key? Or why it hasn’t been returned to me even now that I’m in the magical world?”</p>
<p>The startled look on Professor Snape’s face told Harry that his Head of House knew even less about that than he did.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>His meeting with Professor Snape had left Harry even more unsettled than he’d been before. He’d gotten some of the answers he’d wanted, but they’d come at the cost of frustration directed at just about everything and anyone.<p>The more he thought about it, the less sense Dumbledore’s involvement in Harry’s life meant. Why had he been the one to decide to where Harry ended up after his parents’ death? Why had he had so much influence in Harry’s life? After all, Dumbledore was nothing more to his parents than their headmaster. Harry couldn’t think of a single teacher—including the headmaster—that he’d ever willingly give that kind of power to. It was all so strange.</p>
<p>Harry paced the floor of his dormitory, finding it harder and harder to calm down. He needed to get out, to walk around and think for a little while. But it was after curfew, and he’d never be able to get away with sneaking out. Someone would see him. Unless—</p>
<p>The invisibility cloak! He dug the cloak out of his trunk, and, with as much stealth as he could muster, managed to get out of his dormitory and past the heavy common room door without being heard.</p>
<p>He wasn’t entirely sure of where he was headed, but even just walking down the flagstone corridors around the castle helped him to feel a little better. Thinking clearly was so much easier when he was free to go wherever he pleased. He suspected that nighttime wanderings were going to become a bit of a habit for him one day.</p>
<p>“What has a head and a tail but no body?”</p>
<p>Harry startled at the unfamiliar voice. Had someone spotted him? And how? But when he turned to face the direction of the voice, all he saw was a statue.</p>
<p>“What?” Harry mumbled to himself. He’d heard of portraits talking, but he’d yet to come across a statue that could.</p>
<p>“What has a head and a tail but no body?” the statue asked again, a bit more impatient this time.</p>
<p>“Um…” Harry wracked his brain for possible answers. It couldn’t be anything alive; no plant or animal could survive without its body. So it had to be something inanimate. “Oh, a coin!”</p>
<p>“Well reasoned.”</p>
<p>A door Harry hadn’t even noticed swung open. Not one to think twice about how strange it was for doors guarded by riddles to just appear, he went through without hesitation.</p>
<p>The room inside was rather dark, only lit by a fire and a faint glow coming from the far corner of the room. Even in the near darkness, it was clear to Harry that he had ended up in a common room for one of the other houses. It was decorated in dark colors that Harry couldn’t quite discern, and couches and chairs filled the space, giving it an atmosphere that would surely be cozy in the light of day.</p>
<p>As he approached the far corner to investigate that strange glowing, it quickly became clear exactly which common room he’d entered.</p>
<p>“Hermione?”</p>
<p>Hermione was curled up on a window seat reading a thick book by wandlight. She looked thoroughly startled to see Harry standing there, and nearly dropped her book when he’d spoken.</p>
<p>“Harry? What are you doing here? How did you even get in?” Hermione asked in a hushed yet urgent voice. “It’s past curfew, and you know we’re not supposed to visit the commons rooms of other houses.”</p>
<p>Harry shrugged. “I don’t really know what I’m doing, to be honest. One moment I was in the dungeons unable to settle down and the next a statue was asking me riddles.”</p>
<p>“But why would you risk being out after curfew?”</p>
<p>“I just couldn’t stay in that room any longer,” he admitted, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I had to get out.”</p>
<p>Hermione gave him a look of surprise that quickly turned to one of both sadness and understanding. “Is it because of that article in the <i>Prophet</i>? Have you talked to Professor Snape about it?”</p>
<p>“I actually just got done talking to Professor Snape about a half hour before coming up here. It made things both better and worse, if that makes sense.”</p>
<p>“No, not really.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>They stared at one another in awkward silence for a moment, neither entirely sure of what to say next. The strange ambiance of the mostly empty, mostly dark Ravenclaw common room didn’t exactly help.</p>
<p>It was Hermione who recovered first. “Well you can’t very well stay here. Someone will notice if you’re not in your common room come morning,” she reminded him.</p>
<p>“Oh. Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Harry realized. He hadn’t even intended to come here. It was quite a long trek from the dungeons, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to get back.</p>
<p>“How did you get all the way up here from the dungeons without being spotted anyway?”she asked.</p>
<p>“I got an invisibility cloak for Christmas,” he told her, gesturing to the robe tucked under his arm. “It used to belong to my dad.”</p>
<p>Hermione’s eyes went wide with wonder. “Did you really? That’s incredible! I read that they’re really rare. Oh, do you think we could use it to sneak into the Restricted Section at the library?”</p>
<p>Harry startled at how quickly Hermione had gone from mildly suspicious to absolutely fascinated.</p>
<p>“What, right now?” he asked her incredulously. Hadn’t she just been suggesting he return to his common room?</p>
<p>“I don’t see why not. We’re both already up after curfew, <i>and</i> you have it with you. Besides, it’s not like we’d be able to get away with it in the daytime, and especially not when everyone returns from break.”</p>
<p>She had a point. At least at night, Madam Pince wouldn’t be in the library to find them the moment she picked up any sound from them with her batlike hearing.</p>
<p>“Alright then,” Harry agreed. “Let’s go.”</p>
<p>The of them got under the cloak and left the common room, the riddling statue thankfully not bothering to comment on their departure. It would be a slow journey, what with the two of them needing to walk at exactly the same speed as quietly as possible, but they had all the time in the world. After all, if they couldn’t be seen, they couldn’t be found.</p>
<p>“I think we’re nearly there,” Hermione whispered after about ten minutes. “We just have to turn left up ahead and go to the end of the corridor.”</p>
<p>Harry nodded. “Left then straight down the corridor. Got it.” </p>
<p>A small, solid figure on the ground stopped Harry in his tracks before he could act on Hermione’s directions. It wasn’t until the figure let out a loud, whining “meow” that Harry realized what—or rather, who—it was.</p>
<p>Harry and Hermione looked at Mrs. Norris and then each other. “Filch!” they both silently exclaimed.</p>
<p>“We have to go back!” Harry decided.</p>
<p>“But we’re nearly there!”</p>
<p>“That won’t matter if Filch catches us first.”</p>
<p>Hermione looked as though she about to argue, so Harry just grabbed her by the wrist and started running back the way they came.</p>
<p>“What have you found, my pet?” Filch’s creepy, shudder-inducing voice asked, echoing down the nearly empty hall. “Students out of bed?”</p>
<p>Before Harry could react, Hermione pulled him through a nearby open door. </p>
<p>The two of them looked around, and found that they’d entered an abandoned classroom. <i>The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket—but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn’t look like it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.</i></p>
<p><i>It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: <b>Erised stra oyt ube cafru oyt on whoshi</b></i>.</p>
<p>“What language do you think that is?” Hermione whispered.</p>
<p>Harry arched an eyebrow, trying to make sense of the words, but found himself unable to do so. “No idea. It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before.” A strange, magnetic feeling washed over him as he took another step toward the mirror. “Do you get the feeling that it’s trying to draw us in? Like it <i>wants</i> us to look at it?”</p>
<p>“I do. It feels like there’s something the mirror wants us to see.”</p>
<p>The closer Harry got to the mirror, the stronger the pull became. He felt as though he was no longer moving of his own accord when he strode across the room to get closer. At some point, the invisibility cloak slipped off his shoulders and dropped to the floor, no longer able to hide Harry and Hermione when they’d drifted so far from one another.</p>
<p>“I… I think we should leave,” Hermione decided suddenly, though her voice sounded unsure. “I have a bad feeling about this.”</p>
<p>But Harry didn’t listen. The pull of mirror didn’t feel at all threatening or dangerous to him. Rather, there was something almost comforting that kept drawing him closer until he was just a foot away from the center of the mirror.</p>
<p>At first, Harry saw himself. At least, he thought he did. The boy in the mirror was similar to Harry, but there were a few noticeable differences. Mirror Harry was a just a bit taller and his skin a bit fairer. The black hair they both wore was in neat waves rather than the untamable mess worn by his real life counterpart. His cheekbones were a little higher and his jaw just a bit more defined. Most noticeable of all, though, was that Mirror Harry’s eyes were dark, dark blue instead of emerald green.</p>
<p>Mirror Harry was surrounded by people that his real self didn’t recognize, as well as a few that he did. A girl who looked almost like Hermione but with darker hair and silver eyes stood beside him—a brilliant grin (with better, straighter teeth) on her face. Behind them were three smiling adults: an attractive woman with long black curls and the same hooded silver eyes as Mirror Hermione, a slender man with dark brown hair and even darker blue eyes, and a tall, crimson eyed man with the same hair as Mirror Harry who stood between the other two with a hand on each of their shoulders. All three of them looked so happy and so proud of him.</p>
<p>The longer Harry looked, the more people he saw in the mirror. A redheaded woman with bright green eyes the same as his and a man who looked like an older version of the real Harry joined the group. <i>They must be my parents</i>, Harry realized, although he didn’t understand why he was standing with Hermione’s family rather than his own.</p>
<p>The group continued to grow faster and faster. First, a man who looked similar to the blue-eyed man, though slightly younger joined the others. After him was Professor Snape and a man with curly black hair who kissed the professor’s cheek. Then an elegant looking blonde woman. A man who looked almost exactly like Draco. Draco. A little blonde girl who clung to Draco, much to the boy’s annoyance. A man with mousy brown hair and long scars across his face. Yet another black-haired, silver-eyed man who wrapped his arm around the scarred man.</p>
<p>“Do you see them all, Hermione?” he asked excitedly. “There’s so many of them there! I think… I think they’re our family.”</p>
<p>Harry hadn’t even noticed he’d said it, but Hermione startled at his use of the word “our”. “See who, Harry?” she asked, craning her neck in the hopes of seeing whatever this family was that they might both belong to. “All I see is us.”</p>
<p>“Oh! Maybe you have to be properly looking at it to see them.” </p>
<p>Harry grabbed Hermione’s sleeve and guided her to where he had just been standing.</p>
<p>“I don’t see…” Hermione’s voice trailed off as she became transfixed by the mirror. “You’re right!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Look at them all! And the two of us! We look so different and yet… and yet I know it has to be us standing there.”</p>
<p>Something strange happened as Hermione continued to look into the mirror. She grew just a little taller. Her hair became darker and sleeker, the curls shaping into perfect pitch-black ringlets. And, perhaps the strangest of all, the angles of her face shifted a bit pointier; her chin narrower and her cheekbones higher. Somehow, she was turning into the version of herself she saw in the mirror.</p>
<p>“Hermione!” Harry gasped. “You-you’re everything! It’s changing!”</p>
<p>“Huh?”</p>
<p>Hermione took her eyes off the mirror for a moment to take a better look at herself. “Oh! This is wonderful!” She looked into the mirror once more, her expression growing wistful. “I look just like them now! I look… I look like I belong there with all of them.” Her fingers stretched out in front of her to caress one of the reflections. “My family.”</p>
<p>Harry moved closer to Hermione so that he could see into the mirror as well. The two of them stood there for minutes or hours—time stopped meaning much of anything to them the longer they were there—utterly transfixed by the wonderful, happy people in the mirror who looked like them. Harry wished he could walk into the mirror and join them, not caring at all that it was just an illusion and that his parents were dead. He’d do anything to have a family, to have this family that stood right in front of him.</p>
<p>“The two you are very lucky indeed that it was I who found you and not Filch.”</p>
<p>Professor Snape’s steady, demanding voice made both Harry and Hermione jump. Both students whipped around to face their Potions professor. As soon as they did, though, the found their professor looking far more surprised to see them than they were to see him.</p>
<p>“Bella?”</p>
<p>The Potions master’s voice sounded strange, like merely uttering that name brought him pain. He reached out, as though he was about to place a hand on Hermione’s hair, only to pull away as though he’d been stung.</p>
<p>“Professor?” Hermione asked, her appearance snapping back to normal. “Are you alright?”</p>
<p>That seemed to snap Professor Snape out of whatever trance had fallen over him. “I won’t take house points or assign detentions for being out after curfew <i>just this once</i> because you’ll no doubt suffer the negative effects of coming into contact with this particular artefact for days to come. That should be punishment enough.”</p>
<p>He wasn’t going to punish them? It really <i>must</i> be Christmas for a miracle like that to happen. Still, there was something about what Professor Snape had said that left Harry feeling rather unsettled.</p>
<p>“Negative effects?” Hermione asked, looking just as concerned as Harry felt. “Professor, what exactly is this mirror?”</p>
<p>Professor Snape regarded the question for a moment before asking, “Would you prefer the short answer or the long one?”</p>
<p>“The long answer, Sir. If you don’t mind, I mean.”</p>
<p>“Ms. Granger, I would not have offered if I minded.”</p>
<p>“Right. Of course, Sir.”</p>
<p>“The Mirror of Erised is a highly dangerous magical artefact that shows you the most desperate of your heart’s desires,” Professor Snape explained in the same velvety voice he used during Potions lectures. “It feeds off the energy of those who stare too long, pulling them in with hollow promises of what could be while draining them of their sanity and their strength. Countless people have died from the mirror’s thrall.” His expression grew even more grim than usual. “Do not under any circumstances return to this mirror unless you wish to be one of them.”</p>
<p>Harry was stunned to silence. He couldn’t believe a thing like that was just sitting in an empty, unlocked classroom where any student could happen upon it and get sucked in. What if a teacher didn’t come across the next victim in time? What if a teacher became a victim?</p>
<p>Hermione, it seemed, was thinking exactly the same thing. “If the Mirror of Erised that dangerous, what’s it doing in a school? Aren’t there better, more secure places for a thing like that?” she asked.</p>
<p>“Indeed there are, Ms. Granger,” Professor Snape conceded. “As to why the Mirror is at Hogwarts, I’m afraid I cannot say.”</p>
<p>Harry got the distinct feeling that “cannot say” meant “not allowed to tell students” rather than that Professor Snape didn’t actually know, but he decided not to press the issue. As it was, he’d already pushed his luck far further than he should have—first with trying to use legilimency on Snape and then being caught out after curfew. He could always try and find some other time.</p>
<p>“And Ms. Granger?”</p>
<p>Hermione cocked her head to the side. “Yes, Sir?”</p>
<p>“It might benefit you to visit the library at some point in the near future to research the term metamorphmagus. The explanations are sure to be… enlightening.”</p>
<p>“Oh! Alright. Thank you, Professor.”</p>
<p>Professor Snape arched an eyebrow, his expression betraying some strong, unknown emotion. “Don’t mention it. Now, let’s get the two of you back to your dormitories. I doubt either of you would ever make it back on your own in your current state.”</p>
<p>As Professor Snape walked them back to their respective dormitories, Harry wasn’t entirely sure what to feel. He found himself missing the mirror, as well as wondering what the illusion it showed him had meant. Why did he look different? Why was he standing in front of those three people in the center instead of with his parents? And what did Hermione and Draco have to do with all of it? He just <i>had</i> to find out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Family Magics</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>dumbledore is horrible. harry utilizes his family magic. hermione studies hers.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>1. i don't own these characters, but we're officially beyond semblance of jk rowling's story<br/>2. <i>~this is the style for parseltongue from here on out~</i></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Things were not going according to plan, at least not for Albus Dumbledore. After years of every little detail playing out exactly how he intended it to, he was at a loss for how to regain control of the current situation. He needed a back-up plan, and fast, or else he might risk losing everything he’d worked so hard for.</p>
<p>He’d had such big plans for Harry Potter. The prophecy. An upbringing that would leave him humble and obedient, as well as ready to embrace the first adult in the magical world who showed him any kindness. A prosperous future as a symbol for the Light. It was all lining up to work out perfectly.</p>
<p>And then someone just had to go and leak what was going on with the Dursleys to the DMLE and the press! Didn’t they know it was a delicate situation? Didn’t they know Dumbledore needed the boy there for the greater good? The boy could never become the perfect sacrificial lamb he would need to defeat Voldemort once and for all if he had a loving home life.</p>
<p>In the blink of an eye, Dumbledore had lost his carefully crafted total control of Harry Potter. He had lost control of his manufactured mascot.</p>
<p>The last time things went this terribly wrong for Dumbledore was when the original Harry James Potter had been a stillborn. He’d needed that child alive for the false prophecy he and Sybil Trelawney had invented for the purpose of drawing out Voldemort. For two months, he’d scrambled to come up with a new plan until, by some stroke of luck, Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody had arrived in his office with word that two Death Eater children had been taken in a raid on Lestrange Manor.</p>
<p>Dumbledore knew from the moment he saw the baby boy that he would be a perfect replacement for Harry Potter. He was approximately the right age, and his dark hair and bright eyes would make it easy to disguise him as a natural-born child of Lily and James.</p>
<p>Convincing the Potters to take in the child had been much easier than Dumbledore had expected. All he’d needed to do was tell them he was an orphan with no living relatives, and they’d immediately agreed to raise him as their own. With their permission, he’d given the boy Lily’s eyes and James’ everything else so that he could look like he belonged in their little family. They’d refused to call the new child Harry—preferring instead to name him Charlus after one of James’ relatives—but Dumbledore had been able to work around that and convince the public that “Charlus” was Harry Potter.</p>
<p>The other child—a small girl who, at just several months old, already looked far too much like Bellatrix Lestrange—had been of no use to Dumbledore. He ended up dropping her off at that muggle orphanage where he’d first met eleven year old Tom Riddle. With a few glamors to hide her identity and possibly a new family in the future, he was sure she’d turn out much better than her parents had.</p>
<p>It had been a shame when Dumbledore discovered on that fateful Halloween in 1981 that the Potters had defected to the Dark, but even that was a setback he could handle. He’d heard rumors of their plan to run off to join Voldemort from their skittish little friend Peter Pettigrew. Unfortunately, death had been the only way to stop them. He’d killed James first, and then Lily as she ran to Harry’s nursery. Finding Voldemort in the nursery had been unexpected, but he hadn’t been too much of a challenge to defeat, as he was trying to run off with a baby in his arms.</p>
<p>After all of the adults had been done away with, Dumbledore had picked up the child and wondered whether he should make a clean job of it or leave the child alive. He could make either scenario work for him, though the benefits in each case would be vastly different.</p>
<p>As soon as got a proper look at the child’s face, though, he saw that the decision had already been made for him. An ancient protection rune had been cut into his forehead: <i><br/>Caro Sacrificium</i>. A taboo form of family magic powered by the blood of both the recipient and the scribe, it required the the scribe to sacrifice their life in exchange for the recipient to be protected from death itself. One of the Potters must have foresaw Dumbledore’s attack and decided to make the ultimate sacrifice to protect their son. So long as the rune remained, Dumbledore would die if he tried to kill Harry Potter.</p>
<p>But an obscure mark like this was something Dumbledore could use as well. Gently, he’d placed the child back in his crib and got to thinking. If he could just convince the world that the rune was a actually a curse scar, that the child had survived an attack from Voldemort, then he could still salvage the situation. Voldemort was gone, the Potters were dead, and little baby Harry would be the new symbol for the Light.</p>
<p>It had worked for ten glorious years. The public had eaten up the story of their infant savior, the child had been of the way in a muggle residence that was meant to leave him malleable enough for Dumbledore to shape into a figurehead, and, as self-appointed magical guardian to the boy, the Potter vaults and Wizengamot seat were firmly under Dumbledore’s control. It had been a perfect decade.</p>
<p>What on earth was he supposed to do now that he’d lost control of the boy?</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>Harry laid on his four-poster bed and stared up at the top of the canopy. He’d been feeling out of sorts ever since he’d encountered the Mirror of Erised the previous night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the faces of all those familiar strangers in the mirror. Whenever his eyes were open, his thoughts were preoccupied with theories of who they might be. There was no way of escaping them.<p>He supposed this awful obsession was what Professor Snape had been talking about when he’d said that exposure to the mirror could cause negative side effects. It was the only thing he could think about. Focusing on anything else felt like a betrayal to the illusion in the mirror.</p>
<p>What he needed was a distraction, and fast. It would have to be something that could keep his undivided attention long enough for him to have some reprieve from the mirror, a tall order that he had no idea how to fill. He rolled over to face his nightstand, already bored with the canopy. That was when he saw it, that strange little box with its strange little egg. It was the perfect distraction! He could work on solving the mystery of what the egg was and how it worked.</p>
<p>He picked up the box and reread the note: <i>She will wake when you call to her - T.M.R.</i> What kind of creature hatched when spoken to? Harry had never heard of such a thing, and speaking to it in English yesterday had done nothing. Did he need a spell of some kind? Some magical command to trigger the hatching?</p>
<p>The longer he looked at the egg, the less sense using a spell made. If he hadn’t learned about it yet in any of his classes or extracurricular readings, then a spell used to a wake an unhatched creature surely wasn’t something an eleven year old could be expected to know. Harry doubted this mysterious T.M.R. would have gone to the trouble of sending him something—a living something, no less—unless it could be reasonably assumed that he would know how to figure it out.</p>
<p>That only frustrated Harry more. Why did it have to be such a puzzle? Why couldn’t it be something straightforward? Perhaps an already hatched <i>whatever this was</i> would have been a more suitable gift.</p>
<p>Harry took the egg out of its box and brought it just a few inches from his eyes for closer inspection. It was long and oval-shaped, and the material of the shell was more flexible than the hard, fragile chicken eggs he was used to from all those years of cooking for his relatives. In fact, he didn’t think it was a bird egg at all. It looked more like the pictures of reptile eggs that he’d seen in his science books at muggle primary school.</p>
<p>That was it! It had to be a reptile. More specifically, it had to be a reptile that understood parseltongue. It was the only thing that made sense. He knew that wyverns, wyrms, and a few breeds of mundane lizards were just as capable of understanding parseltongue as snakes, but he sincerely hoped that it was indeed a snake. After all, a snake would be a perfect pet for a Slytherin.</p>
<p>Deciding to test his theory, Harry closed his eyes, focused on the way his mouth had moved during the  conversation he’d had with the snake at the zoo, and began to speak.</p>
<p>
  <i>~Hello. Can you hear me?~</i>
</p>
<p>Daring to open one eye, Harry looked at the egg. Nothing happened, and he worried that he hadn’t spoken parseltongue at all. Was it possible that he could only speak parseltongue in the presence of a a snake that had already hatched? Or could it be that this egg isn’t a snake at all, and this experiment had all been for naught?</p>
<p>Just as he was beginning to give up hope, the egg moved in his hand. It was subtle at first, just a slight wiggle, but it was enough. Harry stared in awe as the egg’s shell twisted and stretched and shook until finally the first crack appeared.</p>
<p><i>~Hello? Isss ssomeone there?~</i> came a young, feminine voice as a tiny, iridescent crimson and black snake head pushed its way through the small crack. She was facing the wrong way, so she looked around until she saw Harry. <i>~Oh, there you are.~</i></p>
<p>A small, slender blood-red snake with black circular markings made her way out of the egg. With each fluid movement of her lithe body, the light of the room reflected off her scales, creating tiny, flickering rainbows along her sides. Harry had never seen such a beautiful snake before.</p>
<p><i>~You mussst be my wizard,~</i> hissed the snake as she slithered up Harry’s arm and settled just below the elbow. <i>~I have waited ssso long for a wizard to call my own.~</i></p>
<p><i>~<b>Your</b> wizard?~</i> Harry asked, his pulse speeding up from nervousness. He’d never been a snake’s wizard before and had no idea what would be expected of him.</p>
<p>The snake bobbed her head in a humanlike nod. <i>~Yessss. And I am your sssnake. Now, what do I call you, wizard?~</i></p>
<p><i>~Harry. Harry Potter.~</i> Not wanting to be rude and assume he was to name this snake like he had Hedwig, he asked, <i>~What do I call you?~</i></p>
<p><i>~The man at the market called me Rainbow Boa, but I am unsssure if thisss isss my name or ssspeciess,~</i> she told him. </p>
<p>The man at the market? Harry supposed this meant she was captive-bred just like the snake at the zoo. He wondered where she came from, and, if like the zoo snake, would ever want to visit her place of origin. If she did, he hoped they could take that trip together.</p>
<p>Harry took a long look at the multicolored sheen dancing on her scales and decided: <i>~Definitely ssspeciess. You sshine like a rainbow.~</i></p>
<p><i>~I do, don’t I?~</i> she agreed, preening at the praise as she flexed around Harry’s arm to show off the shimmer of her scales. </p>
<p>Harry rolled his eyes at the snake’s apparent vanity.</p>
<p>The snake made a face that almost looked like a pout. <i>~I sssaw that!~</i> she hissed.</p>
<p>Eager to change the subject so that he didn’t have to deal with whatever the snake equivalent of a tantrum was, Harry asked, <i>~Did the man at the market sssay anything elsse about you?~</i></p>
<p>The snake, for her part, didn’t even seem to notice the redirection. <i>~He told the curiousss man that I am besst for compansship, not protection,~</i> she said after moment, her words slow as she tried to remember what else the man might have said. <i>I have no venom like a guard sssnake.~</i></p>
<p>That answered one question that Harry hadn’t even realized he needed to ask. It hadn’t occurred to him that his little snake might be venomous. He probably should have thought of that before he let her hatch in his hand and slither around on his arm.</p>
<p><i>~Curiousss man?~</i> Harry repeated, hoping he wasn’t being too nosy. <i>~Who wass the curiousss man&gt;~</i></p>
<p>The snake didn’t seem to mind at all. <i>~The man who brought me here. He assked a lot of quessstions. Ssaid I wass going to belong to a young sspeaker wizard.~</i></p>
<p>Harry was clearly the young wizard, but did this mean that the curious man and T.M.R. were the same person? And if so, who exactly was he? Harry didn’t know anyone with those initials. What’s more, only a handful of people knew he was a parselmouth. How had this stranger figured it out? Had he seen what had happened at the zoo? Or was he a relative of one of his friends who knew about his ability? And why had he gifted Harry a snake egg for Christmas? Nothing about this made any sense to him.</p>
<p><i>~And that’ss okay with you? Belonging to a young wizard?~</i> Harry asked, feeling a bit self-conscious about his age. What if his snake had been hoping for someone a bit more impressive or experienced than him? This was all so much more complicated than he’d expected.</p>
<p>The snake nodded. <i>~Yesss. Young wizards are bessst for companion sssnakes. At leasst, thisss iss what the egg layer told usss. She sssaid older wizardss only ever want venomousss guard sssnakess to do their bidding.~</i></p>
<p><i>~Oh. Well, that’ss good then.~</i> It made things quite a bit easier if he was the sort of wizard she wanted to have. After a beat, he added: <i>~I think I prefer having a companion sssnake to a guard sssnake.~</i></p>
<p>
  <i>~Good. We <b>are</b> better than guard sssnakess after all.</i>
</p>
<p>Harry chuckled at her pompous tone, but, in his limited experience, decided he agreed with her. She had such a big personality for such a little thing, and she had the added bonus of not being capable of killing him or his friends.</p>
<p><i>~Now…~</i> she drawled, slithering up Harry’s arm until she was perched on his shoulder, <i>~let’ss find me a name.~</i></p>
<p>Reaching over for his books with famous figures from wizarding history, Harry decided to do just that.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>Hermione had spent nearly the entire day in the library, but she hadn’t made any progress on finding information about metamorphmagi. It wasn’t in the M section, nor was it in any of the books on disguises, glamors, or anything related to Charms. The only mention of metamorphmagi she had found was a single sentence in an advanced Transfiguration book, and all it had said was that metamorphmagus abilities were a trait with roots in Transfiguration.<p>She was growing frustrated. Why had Professor Snape sent her on what was slowly proving to be a wild goose chase? Why couldn’t he have just given her a straight answer? Was there even a single book in the library that talked about the metamorphmagus ability? She was starting to wonder if the Potions professor hadn’t simply told her the term to keep her too busy to cause any trouble for the rest of the winter break.</p>
<p>The metamorphmagus question wasn’t the only mystery on Hermione’s hands, though. She was also curious about who Bella was, but she had no idea where to begin on that particular clue. It had to be a relative of hers, and a close one at that. She guessed this Bella person was either her mother, aunt, or maybe even an older sister. It also had to be someone who Professor Snape knew, which helped to narrow down the age range at least a little. She’d considered looking up the names of past Hogwarts students and trying to see which ones were in school with Professor Snape or attended while he was a professor, but there were sure to be far too many Bellas for that to be a viable avenue.</p>
<p>And last but certainly not least was the matter of a very peculiar but very beautiful Christmas present she’d received. She hadn’t expected much in the way of presents, so she’d been pleasantly surprised by her Weasley sweater and the new book she’d gotten from Mrs. Malfoy—with whom she’d been exchanging letters on dark healing for the better part of three months after Draco had told his mother about Hermione’s interest in the subject. But it was the gift from an unknown sender that had been both the most vexing and her absolute favorite.</p>
<p>On top of her tiny pile of presents had been a flat, black jewelry box wrapped in green paper. Inside the box, she had found a note and a stunning silver ouroboros bracelet with tiny emeralds in the snake’s eyes. She was so certain that there’d been some sort of mix-up, that the bracelet was meant for someone else, that she’d read the note four times before accepting it was meant for her.</p>
<p><i>Hermione,</i> it had said, <i>this bracelet is imbued with protection charms so that you need not worry about minor hexes and curses. It will also adjust to your wrist size and grow as you do. It’s the sort of thing every girl your age ought to wear. -T.M.R</i></p>
<p>She finally tried it on after reminding herself that she was the only Hermione at Hogwarts. It had adjusted just like the note said it would, and a calm cocoon of protective magic washed over her as it did. She’d been wearing it ever since. </p>
<p>The only problem was that she didn’t know any T.M.R., and she certainly didn’t know anyone who would want to buy her such an expensive looking piece of jewelry. A small part of her hoped that it was somehow a magical relative of hers who wanted to get in touch, though she knew how unlikely that was. After all, wouldn’t someone who wanted to reach out to her sign their full name? Yet she couldn’t think of any other possible explanation for T.M.R.’s identity.</p>
<p>“In the library over b-break, Ms. Granger? I hope you’re n-not spending your holiday studying.”</p>
<p>Professor Quirrell’s stuttering snapped Hermione from her reverie. She looked up to see the nervous professor holding a small stack of books on various defense topics.</p>
<p>A brilliant idea occurred to Hermione. Professor Quirrell wasn’t in any way involved in the metamorphmagus mystery, and Professor Snape didn’t seem to like him very much, so it wouldn’t do any harm for her to ask him questions. It would never get back to Professor Snape—who for some reason seemed to think it better for Hermione to figure this all out on her own—and it might just save her a lot of time.</p>
<p>“Of course not, Professor,” she assured him, wearing a pleasant sort of smile that she hoped looked believable. “I’m reading up on more of a… personal project of mine.”</p>
<p>“Always the Ravenclaw, I see. N-not like I c-can judge. I was in Ravenclaw t-too, you know.” Professor Quirrell lost himself in thought for a moment, and Hermione could only guess that he was remembering his own school days. “M-may I inquire into the n-nature of this p-project?”</p>
<p><i>Perfect,</i> Hermione thought, forcing her face to not split into a Cheshire grin. This was going to be even easier than she’d expected.</p>
<p>She nodded. “Yes, I’m researching metamorphmagi.”</p>
<p>“M-metamorphmagi?” Professor Quirrell repeated, looking even more startled than usual. “Have you tried the b-books on human t-transfiguration? Or m-maybe the ones on family m-magics?”</p>
<p>Family magic? She’d heard the term before, but she wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. It seemed to be one of those things wizards were expected to already understand, so she never managed to find anything that actually explained what it was.</p>
<p>Hermione shook her head. “No, Professor,” she admitted. “Do you think you could explain family magic to me? If it’s not too much of a bother, I mean.” Not wanting her professor to think she was ignorant, she hastily added: “It’s just that none of the books I’ve found have done it any justice, and I want to be sure I have the best possible understanding of it.”</p>
<p>“So s-studious,” Professor Quirrell praised her. “Very well. I hope I c-can do the explanation justice.” He brought his hand to his chin in the perfect stereotype of a thinking pose before saying: “M-many of the older families have family m-magics that are p-passed down through the generations. Sometimes it’s as s-simple as a n-natural aptitude for a certain type of m-magic, like how the P-Parkinsons all excel at Charms or the P-Prewetts are gifted in Herbology.”</p>
<p>“And being a metamorphmagus runs in certain families as well?” Hermione surmised.</p>
<p>“Sort of,” Professor Quirrell replied, seeming just a bit impressed by her assumption. “You’re m-muggle raised, yes?”</p>
<p>Hermione nodded.</p>
<p>“Are you familiar with genetics? The terms d-dominant and recessive t-traits?”</p>
<p>Hermione nodded once more. “Yes, Professor.”</p>
<p>She had learned the basics of heredity in her primary school Biology class when they talked about a scientist by the name of Gregor Mendel who had studied the inherited traits of his pea plants. It hadn’t been anything fancy or overly complicated, but they’d tried filling out their own Punnet squares to see the likelihood of being born with blue eyes based on their parents’ eye colors. She could, at the very least, deduce that she never would have had blue eyes even if she was a Granger by blood because both of her adoptive parents having brown eyes.</p>
<p>Professor Quirrell gave her a soft smile. “Then this will be m-much easier to explain.” He took a long, steadying breath before continuing. “Some families have inherited m-magical gifts that go b-beyond simple aptitudes. These gifts can be either d-dominant or recessive. For example: every d-direct d-descendent of Salazar Slytherin is a parselmouth. That is, they can s-speak to snakes.”</p>
<p>Hermione’s eyes went wide. Did this mean she was related to Salazar Slytherin? Or did Professor Quirrell simply mean that Slytherin just happened to be a family where the trait was common? She made a mental note to look into that once she’d solved the metamorphmagus mystery.</p>
<p>“Other g-gifts,” Professor Quirrell continued, “are far less c-common. M-muggle science would c-called them recessive t-traits. The m-metamorphmagus ability runs in the M-most Ancient and N-noble House of B-Black, b-but most B-Black descendants n-never show the ability. There are m-maybe one or two p-per generation.”</p>
<p>The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black? Did that mean it was possible that her last name was Black? Or that it had been her mother’s maiden name?</p>
<p>“Is that the only family that has the metamorphmagus trait?” Hermione asked just to be thorough. If there were other families that had the trait, she would need to look into them as well.</p>
<p>“Yes it is, b-but not every m-metamorphmagus has the last name B-Black. In fact, an old student of m-mine, N-Nymphadora Tonks, was a m-metamorphmagus. Her m-mother was a B-Black, though. Andromeda B-Black to be p-precise.”</p>
<p>Hermione made a mental note to remember the name Andromeda Black. If nothing else, it might be a good place to start in trying to find her birth family.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione told him earnestly. “Your explanation was ever so helpful.” Maybe not in the way he intended, but it had been exactly the sort of information she’d needed and more.</p>
<p>“Glad to b-be of help. Oh, and M-Ms. Granger?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Professor?” Hermione asked.</p>
<p>“That’s a b-beautiful b-bracelet you’ve g-got on.” </p>
<p>Hermione looked at the ouroboros bracelet and smiled. “Thank you, Professor. It was a Christmas gift.”</p>
<p>“Well, I b-better get b-back to my own research,” Professor Quirrell said, gesturing to the books in his hand. “I’ll see you in c-class n-next week.”</p>
<p>“See you next week, Professor.”</p>
<p>As Professor Quirrell left the library, a self-satisfied grin spread across Hermione’s lips. She now had five clues to her true identity: the metamorphmagus ability, the first name Bella, Salazar Slytherin, the mysterious T.M.R., and the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Sooner or later, she’d figure out how it was all connected.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>that awkward moment when your professor who is being possessed by your dad tries to compliment you on the bracelet they got you for christmas, but he doesn't want to make it weird</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Welcoming Committee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>winter break ends. the dursleys go to trial. the welcoming committee begins their fun.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i own none of these characters but all of these plot points because jk rowling was too much of a coward to write this</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rest of winter break passed by with little insight at all into Harry and Hermione’s questions, much to both of their annoyance. Hermione <i>had</i> managed to put together a list of all the students who went to Hogwarts at the same time as Professor Snape once she finally figured out his approximate age, but it hadn’t turned up any promising leads. Only three students with the last name of Black attended school with the Potions master: Sirius Black, Regulus Black, and Narcissa Black. She’d found no records of Sirius or Regulus ever getting married or having children, and she already knew that Narcissa was Draco’s mother.</p>
<p>There had also been four women with a first name that could be shortened to Bella—two called Isabella, one Belladonna, and one Sybella—but they had all proved to be dead ends as well. None of them had married anyone with the last name Black. Hermione had intended to expand her search and perhaps look into Andromeda Black as soon as she could track the name down, but she hadn’t managed to get to it before the start of the new term.</p>
<p>Harry, on the other hand, had been hindered due to his aunt and uncle’s upcoming trial. Several days after Christmas, Professor Snape had taken him to St. Mungo’s for a medical history scan. The scan itself had taken less than twenty minutes, but the long piece of parchment that the results had been transcribed on had alarmed the healers enough that they made Harry stay overnight. They’d given him one potion that would fix all of the improperly healed broken bones he’d received over the years, and another that he was supposed to start taking every evening with dinner to help with his malnutrition.</p>
<p>While he’d been stuck at the hospital, two Aurors had come to ask him questions about what it was like to live with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Harry did his best to answer as honestly and openly as possible, but he’d been a bit confused when they started asking a ton of questions about Dudley.</p>
<p>Harry understood why they wanted to know more about Dudley, seeing as he was also a victim and still in a magically induced coma to heal from the damage had done. He just didn’t understand why the Aurors thought he would have any insight. It wasn’t like he’d been a <i>real</i> part of the family who was privy to that sort of information.</p>
<p>He’d told the Aurors that his aunt and uncle had fed Dudley way too much and that they’d spoiled him rotten, as well as how Dudley and his gang had liked to beat him up. But then the Aurors started asking about things like his cousin’s mental state and if Harry had any memories of Dudley showing signs of magic (he didn’t), and Harry simply didn’t have any answers for them at all. The more questions they asked, the less of a clue Harry had for how to answer them. In the end, one of the healers had to chase out the Aurors, shouting that they needed to stop harassing her patient. </p>
<p>The only enjoyable part of his trip to St. Mungo’s was that he’d been permitted to bring his snake Iris along for company. It had taken them nearly two hours to come up with a name they could both agree on, but it was well worth it in the end. Iris—named after the Greek rainbow goddess because of the way her shining scales reflected iridescent rainbows—absolutely adored her new name. She loved sharing a name with a goddess, and loved it even more when others said it was a good fit for her. Every time a new healer came into the room, Iris demanded that Harry tell them her name and what it meant so that they could properly appreciate her existence.</p>
<p>Harry was released from St. Mungos and returned to Hogwarts the day before everyone came back from winter break. He’d spent most of that day properly introducing Hermione and the Weasleys to Iris, as per her request. Iris, it seemed, needed everyone to know how wonderful she was. She reminded Harry of Pansy in that regard.</p>
<p>Before brining Iris along to St. Mungo’s, Harry had asked Professor Snape about the school rules regarding pet snakes. He’d tried to make it seem like he was just asking out of curiosity, but he was sure it hadn’t worked. Still, the Potions master assured him that nonvenomous snakes under ten feet in length were permitted (a former student tried to bring in a twenty foot long reticulated python that had terrified enough students that they had to impose a size limit) and that Harry wouldn’t get into any trouble at all so long as he could keep the snake under control. Iris made a rude comment about how no one could ever control her, and when Harry told her to shut up so they didn’t get in trouble, Professor Snape decided that being a parselmouth was more than enough proof that Harry would have no problem keeping a snake.</p>
<p>Out of everyone’s reactions to Iris, Percy’s had been the most dramatic. Harry had been reading in the common room when Percy met Iris by complete accident. His eyes had gone comically wide, and he had “warned” Harry: “Watch out! There’s a snake on your arm!” He seemed to have been under the impression that Harry was somehow in danger of being attacked by the ten inch long little diva. But once Harry convinced Percy that Iris was both harmless and his familiar, Percy came around quite quickly and even asked to pet her sparkling scales.</p>
<p>By the time the first week of the new term ended, every single one of Harry’s friends had gotten to know Iris. For the most part, the responses had all been positive. Ron had been a bit hesitant at first, though, because Iris and his rat Scabbers seemed to hate each other, so a decision was made to keep the two away from each other for everyone’s peace of mind.</p>
<p>Hermione, Pansy, and, surprisingly, Neville had all loved Iris immediately—though for wildly different reasons. Hermione loved being able to talk to Iris, and she’d asked her loads of questions about how she liked Hogwarts so far. Pansy, on the other hand, loved how beautiful Iris was. Iris loved Pansy back because of all the compliments and attention the girl gave her. It had taken Harry all of five minutes to regret introducing them to each other.</p>
<p>Neville’s interest came from a purely practical stance. He regaled both Harry and Iris with the long and occasionally fascinating history of herbologists keeping reptiles in their gardens and greenhouses for pest management. The Longbottom estate had four iguanas, two pythons, and one chameleon—all of which had belonged to Neville’s mother—for this exact purpose. </p>
<p>“That’s also the reason I have Trevor,” Neville had explained, taking the toad out of his shirt pocket. “Toads are great for stopping insects from making a meal out of plants that can’t defend themselves.”</p>
<p>Upon hearing that, Harry decided that was Trevor—who he’d once thought was utterly useless—was the perfect sort of pet for Neville.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>The excitement of his friends returning to the school, the steadily increasing amount of homework he needed to finish, and the lingering mysteries of T.M.R. and the Mirror of Erised left Harry’s January so busy that he’d nearly forgotten about his aunt and uncle’s trial. He was still vaguely aware of it, and he’d been notified when Dudley had been woken from his magically induced coma, but the whole thing had become a bit of an afterthought. It wasn’t until he saw the headline on the front page of Draco’s copy of the <i>Daily Prophet</i> on January twenty-seventh that he realized the event had managed to sneak up on him. The trial would be the following afternoon.<p>Harry had spent the rest of the day on edge. His stomach had twisted into nervous knots the more he thought about the trial, and by lunchtime, it had begun bothering him so much that Pansy and Draco had dragged him to see Madame Pomfrey for a stomach soothing potion. He’d thought it was overkill at the time, but he found himself quite thankful for it when dinner rolled around. The ten minutes of Madame Pomfrey fussing over him was far preferable to whatever disappointed lecture Professor Snape would have given him if he’d failed to eat enough.</p>
<p>That night, he’d barely slept at all. He kept having strange dreams. In one, Uncle Vernon grew wider and wider until he was able to crush the entire Wizengamot and then rolled all the way into the ocean to escape being sent to Azkaban. Another showed Aunt Petunia turning into a hag and flying out of the courtroom so that she could get revenge on Harry for embarrassing her family. He’d woken up in a cold sweat after that one, and had a difficult time falling back to sleep.</p>
<p>“You alright, Harry?” Draco asked when he spotted Harry zoning out in the middle of breakfast.</p>
<p>“Huh?” came Harry’s startled reply. He looked at the fork he’d forgotten he’d been holding and saw that the scrambled eggs he’d been stabbing at earlier had fallen back onto his plate. “Oh. Yeah. I’m okay, I think. Just distracted, you know?”</p>
<p>Draco looked like he didn’t believe Harry at all, but he didn’t press the issue. “Well of course you’re distracted. You won’t get to find out what happens to your muggles until the <i>Evening Prophet</i> shows up at dinner. Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t demanded that someone from the school escort you down the Wizengamot so you can see the guilty verdict read out in person.” </p>
<p>Harry could think of nothing he’d like less than attending the trial in person, but he was amused by Draco’s comments all the same. It was funny, he thought, how the boy he’d written off as a spoiled snob back at Madame Malkin’s was now using that exact snobbish attitude to try and cheer him up.</p>
<p>“I’d bet Professor Snape would take you,” Draco continued, encouraged by Harry’s slightly improved mood. “Since he knew your mum, he might’ve known your aunt as well. He might get a kick of seeing your aunt’s face when she gets sentenced to Azkaban.”</p>
<p>This time, Harry couldn’t help but laugh. The two did indeed know each other, and it was all too easy to imagine his dour Potions professor cracking a rare grin at the sight of Aunt Petunia being dragged out of the Wizengamot and off to prison. Considering the expletive-laced description of her that Professor Snape had given to the Aurors at the hospital, Harry was almost surprised his professor hadn’t simply gone after Aunt Petunia himself. They’d apparently hated one another since they were children, something that Professor Snape had never grown out of and now considered even more justified than before.</p>
<p>“You’re right,” Harry replied, still breathless from laughing. “Seeing that would probably be the highlight of his year.”</p>
<p>Draco shot him a mock-scandalized look. “And you would deny him that joy by so selfishly going to classes instead of giving him an excuse to go see it? Some savior of the wizarding world you are, Saint Potter.”</p>
<p>Both boys were cackling by the time Draco finished his sentence, and Harry had to put a steadying hand on his friends shoulder lest he fall out of his seat from laughing too hard. They weren’t even sure why they found it so funny, except for perhaps the sheer ridiculousness of picturing Professor Snape being somehow cheated by not going to the trial.</p>
<p>“He gave the Aurors a statement on my Aunt Petunia’s character, you know—something about them needing to establish how she became the way she was or if she had a pattern of behavior or whatever,” Harry whispered to Draco in a conspiratorially low tone once they’d both regained some semblance of composure.</p>
<p>Draco’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “Is that so? Did you hear what he said?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I did,” Harry said, grinning like a madman. “I think he must’ve forgotten I was in the room or something because he was very… colorful in his comments.”</p>
<p>“Come on, then. Out with it!”</p>
<p>“He said that she was…” Harry took a deep breath and tried to channel his inner Snape as best as possible, “‘a hateful bitch, has been since the age of ten when she learned magic was real’, and that ‘she and her disgusting whale of a husband should have never been permitted near any children, let alone magical children’. He also told the Aurors that ‘her personality is just as hideous as she is’.”</p>
<p>The two boys once again burst into laughter. Even after witnessing it himself, Harry found the thought of Professor Snape cursing terribly funny. His temper—which had been even more vicious than his worst exploded cauldron rants—had made it all the more entertaining. The Aurors had certainly been startled by the outburst, but Harry had loved every moment of it. He wished he could lock his aunt and uncle in a room with Professor Snape and just let him yell, preferably while Harry watched.</p>
<p>Snape had said far more and far worse than what Harry had repeated, but Harry feared a professor might sneak up on them at the exact moment he repeated the worst of it. He could always tell Draco the rest later in their dorm without having to worry that being overheard would cause a loss of house points.</p>
<p>“What, may I ask, are the two of you in near hysterics over?”</p>
<p>Professor Snape’s demanding voice and piercing glare did little to quell Harry and Draco’s laughter. If anything, his stern response only made them laugh harder. It was even easier to picture their professor ranting and raving about Aunt Petunia with him standing right in front of them.</p>
<p>“Aunt Petunia,” Harry finally managed to get out.</p>
<p>“Ah, yes. Today is the day of your aunt’s trial. Pity…” Professor Snape drawled in a slow, almost disappointed tone, although the corners of his mouth pulled upwards in the beginning of a smile. “One can only imagine the horrors that await her in Azkaban.”</p>
<p>As Professor Snape strode off, his robes billowing behind him, Harry and Draco fell back into yet another fit of laughter. They’d gotten the distinct impression that their professor wished that he could see Petunia Dursley suffer in prison. Maybe Draco had a point. Maybe Harry <i>should</i> have asked the Potions master to take him to the trial so that they could be there to watch the looks on his aunt and uncle’s faces when they were declared guilty.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>“GUILTY!”<p>Sirius’ proclamation set off a tidal wave of vicious cheers and bloodthirsty screams. Every single resident of the cellblock had been eagerly anticipating the fate of Vernon and Petunia Dursley ever since they’d Christmas morning article exposing their heinous crimes. The Dursleys were the worst sort of muggles—the type that kept the wizarding world hidden behind the Statute of Secrecy for fear of another era of witch burnings—and as such, the Death Eaters and murderers of the so-called most violent cellblock were thrilled that they would soon play host to exactly the type of muggles they used to kill.</p>
<p>There was more to it than that, though. These particular muggles had committed their atrocious acts of cruelty toward two magical <i>children</i>, including their own son. In a community plagued with high levels of infertility and low birth rates, the wizarding world viewed its children as most sacred gifts from Lady Magic. To hurt a child, especially one’s own child, was an aberration deserving of the harshest punishments.</p>
<p>To make matters worse, the other child they’d spent a decade abusing was the Dark Lord’s only son. The Death Easters all knew how deeply their Lord cherished his two young children, and they knew what he would do to those who hurt either one of them. But the Dark Lord wasn’t here. It was up to them to enact revenge.</p>
<p>No one was more excited about the Durselys being found guilty than Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. Hydrus Riddle-Lestrange was just as much their son as he was the Dark Lord’s, and they would gladly slaughter a thousand muggles for the sake of their children. To have their son’s tormentors only a few cells away, just within their reach to terrify and torture until the end of days, was the closest thing to a gift either of them were going to receive in a place like Azkaban. Bellatrix just wished she had her knives with her.</p>
<p>Bellatrix had never recovered from the night her children were abducted. She’d nearly died in her fight to protect them, and had spent every waking moment since then obsessing over finding them. Those who didn’t know her very well claimed that it was the loss of her children that caused her to go insane. But Bellatrix always had a touch of the Black family madness. The burning, all-consuming need to have her children back at her side and their tormentors bleeding out at her feet was nothing more or less than pure maternal rage.</p>
<p>“Does that mean those muggles will be here soon?” Dolohov asked, sounding giddy.</p>
<p>Bellatrix felt a stab of anger at that. The Dursleys were <i>hers</i> to toy with. As Hydrus’ mother, she deserved to have the first go at tem. Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Sirius could all fight for second, but no one else would get a turn until the four of them were through.</p>
<p>“Any moment now, I’m sure,” came Sirius’ slightly manic reply.</p>
<p>As far as Bellatrix was concerned, Sirius had nearly as much of a personal stake in what happened to the Dursleys as she, her husband, and her brother-in-law did. He had spent a year thinking of Hydrus as his little adopted godson Charlus, who he’d loved as if the boy were his own. Learning the truth had changed nothing. Sirius still loved the child, and, sharing in the same Black family madness as Bellatrix, would gladly commit unspeakably horrific acts of violence for Hydrus’ sake.</p>
<p>The sounds of steel-toed boots and heavy chains clanging against the cement floor brought everyone in the cellblock to silence. That combination could only mean one thing: new arrivals. The Dursleys were here.</p>
<p>Sirius was the first to recover. “Who have you brought for us today, boys?” he asked the Aurors in a genial tone as they made their way to toward the only two empty cells left in their block.</p>
<p>Once they made their way into the low light that filtered through the barred windows, Bellatrix was able to see four unfamiliar faces. There were two Aurors—one very tall and lanky, and the other very short and stocky—each holding on to two of the most horrid muggles Bellatrix had ever seen.</p>
<p>The woman was tall and bony, with too much neck and teeth like a horse. Bellatrix had once heard Severus describe Petunia Dursley (then Evans) in those exact words, but it was surprising to see that he hadn’t at all exaggerated. The man was several inches shorter than his wife and wider than both Aurors put together. He had too many chins and a hideous, unkempt mustache that made him look more like a walrus than a man. Bellatrix hated both of them instantly.</p>
<p>“These are Vernon and Petunia Dursley,” the shorter Auror told them, using his free hand to gesture to the muggles. “They’re your new neighbors.”</p>
<p>The cellblock erupted into jeers and taunts, scaring the muggles but simply annoying the Aurors. This was, after all, typical Azkaban behavior that had no effect on seasoned DMLE officials.</p>
<p>“Settle down, all of you!” commanded the taller Auror.</p>
<p>The shorter Auror nodded in agreement. “No need to get so excited. You’ll all have plenty of time to get to know the new prisoners later.”</p>
<p>Everyone did indeed settle down, but there was a tense, almost ominous edge to the silence that followed. Bellatrix was simply waiting for the Aurors to leave so that her reign of terror could begin, and she was certain all the others were doing the same. As soon as they did, even the Dementors would be too frightened to pass through their cellblock.</p>
<p>After what felt like ages but was likely just a few minutes, the Aurors finally managed to get both Dursleys situated in their respective cells. The male was beside Rodolphus, while the female was across from Bellatrix. It couldn’t have been a more perfect set-up if Bellatrix had planned it herself.</p>
<p>“Take good care of them!” the taller Auror told them as soon as he finished locking the male muggle’s cell. </p>
<p>Sirius chuckled darkly at that. “Oh, don’t worry. I know we will.”</p>
<p>Everyone waited until the Aurors’ footsteps faded away, and then all hell broke loose. Blood-curdling screams of “monsters!” and “child killers!” filled the cellblock, threatening to burst the eardrums of anyone who got too close.</p>
<p>“SILENCE!”</p>
<p>The whole block went dead silent at the sound of Bellatrix’s screeched out command. They all knew better than to disobey her when she was in one of her moods.</p>
<p>“So,” Bellatrix crooned, delighting in the terror on the muggles’ faces when they saw the danger in her eyes, “you’re the disgusting muggles that hurt my little, baby boy.”</p>
<p>The female muggle’s faced scrunched up as if she’d just bitten into a lemon. “Y-your boy? I’m afraid you have the wrong person.”</p>
<p><i>They didn’t know the truth?</i> Bellatrix had been certain that the Light would have told them, that it was the true reason for why they’d treated her son the way they did. Now, it turned out, she’d be the one to inform them of the true nature of the dark little prince they’d treated so terribly. She was going to have even more fun than she thought.</p>
<p>“Are you not the muggle called Petunia Dursley? The one who’s in here for abusing the child better known as Harry Potter?”</p>
<p>“Now you listen here! We never—”</p>
<p>Whatever tirade the disgusting male muggle was about to go on was cut off by Rodolphus shouting: “Silence, you filthy muggle! How dare you speak to my wife in such a manner!”</p>
<p>The male muggle’s walrus-like face flushed pink then red then purple as his anger rose. He looked ready to burst. Bellatrix imagined him doing just that, blowing up into a million little pieces and spurting blood and flesh all over his cell’s walls.</p>
<p>“You won’t get away with speaking to me like that!” the walrus shouted at Rodolphus, spit flying out of his mouth like a rabid dog.</p>
<p>“What, you think you can intimidate me?” Rodolphus questioned, barking out a cold laugh. “I’m at least twice as big as your usual target, you spineless coward!”</p>
<p>The male muggle opened his mouth to argue, but was stopped when his bony wife warned him: “Vernon, it’s not worth it.”</p>
<p>Rodolphus smirked at that. “Well, it looks like at least one of you has a shred of sense.”</p>
<p>“If we could get back on topic…” Bellatrix drawled.</p>
<p>“Of course, my dear,” came Rodolphus’ reply.</p>
<p>“The baby boy you two filthy, pathetic muggles knew as Harry Potter was never a Potter at all,” Bellatrix informed the muggles, a sharp edge creeping into her voice. “He was <i>my</i> son! My sweet, little Hydrus!”</p>
<p>The entire cellblock fell deathly silent until—</p>
<p>“I told you, Petunia!” the male muggle shrieked with some sick, twisted joy. “I told you that boy came from nothing but wastrels and criminals of the worst sort of breeding!”</p>
<p>Enraged shouts came from every single cell, reverberating against the stone walls of the prison with such force that the weaker points threatened to collapse.</p>
<p>“You dare insult the breeding of the Dark Lord’s only son!” Dolohov bellowed.</p>
<p>“That’s my nephew you’re talking about!” Sirius growled.</p>
<p>Rabastan nodded his head vigorously. “Mine as well!”</p>
<p>“<i>That boy</i>, as you call him,” Rodolphus said, a dangerous edge to his voice, “is a future lord to the Most Ancient and Legendary House of Slytherin, and a scion to two Most Ancient and Noble Houses. He will know more power and wealth than you could ever dream of!”</p>
<p>“Future lord?” The male muggle scoffed as though he thought the idea too ridiculous to imagine. “That good for nothing—”</p>
<p>“We’re also not criminals, not really. Not like you are,” Rabastan added casually, talking over the muggle to show how little he cared about what the man had to say. “I’d hardly call hunting muggles a crime. It’s more of a public service, exterminating your kind.”</p>
<p>The female muggle paled. “D-did you say hunting muggles?”</p>
<p>“Indeed he did,” Rodolphus confirmed. “In fact, I think you’ve heard of our work. Does the name Tobias Snape sound familiar to you?” He waited for the female muggle’s jerky nod before continuing. “My brother and I helped Severus do a wonderful job of butchering his filthy muggle father.”</p>
<p>Rabastan cackled at the memory of that particularly brutal kill. “I don’t think there was a single spot in that living room that wasn’t soaked by that vermin’s blood!”</p>
<p>The female muggle looked as though she might faint, and for good reason. Even Bellatrix was shocked by the sheer level of brutality they’d used to kill Tobias Snape. She approved, of course, but it was a far, far messier job than their usual kills.</p>
<p>“Alright, everyone. Let’s get back to business,” Sirius announced, sounding every bit the Lord presumptive that he was. “I do believe my dear cousin Bella has more to say.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Siri dear,” Bellatrix replied in a sickly sweet voice. “So, Tuney… oh, do you mind if I call you Tuney? That’s what Lily and Severus called you, right?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “The guards are expecting us to kill you. Rather, they <i>want</i> us to kill you. They wouldn’t have put a couple of muggles in a cell block full of muggle killers otherwise.” There were a few laughs from the others at that. “But I’m going to let you two in on a little secret: no one here has any intentions of killing the two of you.”</p>
<p>The female muggle looked surprised. “Y-you’re not?” she asked.</p>
<p>“Of course not. That would be such a waste.” A cruel smile spread across Bellatrix’ lips. “No, we won’t let you get off that easy. Instead, we’re going to make your every waking moment a nightmare. You’ll be begging for death long before we’re done with you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Albus Dumbledore</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dumbledore talks to Harry about the matter of his guardianship. There are unintended consequences.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>1. my canon now<br/>2. i hate dumbledore so much<br/>3. consider this the last calm chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nine days after his aunt and uncle had been sentenced to life in Azkaban, Harry received an invitation to meet Headmaster Dumbledore in his office. He didn’t particularly want to go, but, after talking to Professor Snape about it, he understood that things would go much better if he agreed to go voluntarily rather than waiting for Dumbledore to force the issue. The headmaster, it turned out, could be quite persistent when he wanted something.</p>
<p>Harry wasn’t surprised that Dumbledore wanted to meet with him, but he <i>was</i> annoyed. The headmaster hadn’t checked up on him once in the entire ten years he’d been at the Dursley’s, not even after he’d appointed himself as Harry’s magical guardian. And yet, now that he had lost the right to that guardianship and his relatives were languishing in prison for what they’d done, Dumbledore suddenly had an interest. He didn’t like it one bit, and he certainly didn’t trust it.</p>
<p>Regardless of his reluctance, Harry found himself standing in front of a a gargoyle that was guarding a spiral staircase after dinner on the twelfth of February. He wished to be anywhere else. Even detention with Filch seemed more pleasant than the idea of being alone with Dumbledore.</p>
<p>The gargoyle keeping guard shot Harry a judgemental glare, almost as if it thought the idea of a student approaching the headmaster’s office utterly ridiculous. Harry had to admit he agreed. Why go through the trouble of protecting the door if Dumbledore was just going to hand out the password to children whenever he felt like it? Did he want security or accessibility? He couldn’t reasonably have both.</p>
<p>“Lemon drops,” Harry told the gargoyle. He felt a bit silly, but the gargoyle moved out of the way to let him in.</p>
<p>He didn’t understand why the headmaster had made his password such a whimsical one. Three of the Hogwarts houses took the security of their dormitories more seriously than this—with the exception of Hufflepuff, who didn’t have a password and simply hoped that no one with ill intentions would find the door that led to their common room. One would think that a headmaster would require more intense security measures than children. Then again, one would also think that said password wouldn’t be given to children who didn’t even particularly like the headmaster, so Harry could only assume that the man didn’t have an ounce of sense. </p>
<p>As he ascended the spiral staircase, Harry was struck by just how easy it would be to ransack Dumbledore’s office. He thought back to whatever it was that had Hagrid had taken out of Vault 713, and hoped that it wasn’t being kept here where anyone with a password could come and steal it. A gargoyle and a candy password wouldn’t be able to stop the Dark wizard who had already broken into Gringotts in search of the object. It wasn’t at all reassuring to think that the safety of every student was at risk over something that may or may not be guarded by nothing more than the phrase “lemon drops”.</p>
<p>So much for Hagrid’s assertions that there was no place safer than Hogwarts… </p>
<p>Shaking such thoughts from head in case Dumbledore was a legilimens, Harry knocked on the heavy stone door in front of him. The door opened as soon as he touched it, and, assuming that was his invitation to enter, he stepped over the threshold.</p>
<p>“Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore greeted him with a far more casual tone than Harry thought was appropriate. “Come in, come in.”</p>
<p>Harry approached the headmaster’s desk, but made no move to sit down or get comfortable. “You wanted to see me, Sir?”</p>
<p>“Right down to business, I see. Very well. I wanted to ask how you were faring after what happened with your aunt and uncle.” He looked like he was trying to come off as sympathetic, but Harry couldn’t find even the slightest warmth in the man’s expression that might make it believable. “You’ve gone through quite a number of major upheavals in such a short period of time, after all, and no one would judge you for not being okay.”</p>
<p>Trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible despite the first tendrils of a vicious fury already starting to unfurl in his gut, Harry observed the headmaster. He couldn’t quite tell if Dumbledore was being sincere, although he had his doubts. He couldn’t quite tell anything about the headmaster at all. Harry had never encountered someone he couldn’t get any sort of read on before, and he couldn’t stand it. It felt as if one of his senses had been taken from him.</p>
<p><i>Best not to trust him on principle</i>, Harry decided. Anyone who kept every ounce of their emotions behind occlumency shields was hiding something.</p>
<p>“No need to worry, Headmaster. I’m perfectly alright,” Harry replied, feigning reassurance and hoping he was a more convincing actor than Dumbledore. “In fact, I’m better than alright. It’s a huge relief to know that I’ll never have to see my aunt and uncle ever again.”</p>
<p>This time, Harry scanned Dumbledore’s face for any sign of a reaction. He thought he saw a brief flash of anger in those obnoxiously twinkling eyes, but it was gone so quickly that he wondered if he hadn’t imagined it.</p>
<p>“Yes, I’m sure it is,” Dumbledore acknowledged, although Harry got the distinct impression that he didn’t mean it.</p>
<p>“If that’s all, Professor, then I’ll be going. I have quite a bit of homework.”</p>
<p>He turned around to leave but was stopped by the headmaster’s statement of: “I do have a few more matters I wish to discuss with you, if you don’t mind.”</p>
<p>Harry minded very much, but he knew better than to admit to it. He spun around on his heel so that he was facing the headmaster once more.</p>
<p>“Yes, Professor?”</p>
<p>“I was hoping we might be able to talk about the current status of your guardianship.”</p>
<p>Harry arched a skeptical eyebrow at that. “What about it?”</p>
<p>“Professor Snape is filling the role as your guardian for now, is he not?” Dumbledore asked in such a casual tone of voice that Harry sensed he was faking it.</p>
<p>The longer Harry remained, the easier it became to read Dumbledore’s true feelings despite the ironclad occlumency shields. He had no clue what was going on in the man’s head, but if he focused, he could see glimmers of emotion (or lack thereof) that made a few things clear. It was becoming more and more apparent that Dumbledore wasn’t being genuine, as the man gave off no emotion whatsoever instead of trying to fake the right ones. The tighter he clung to the shields, the more obvious it was that he was lying.</p>
<p>“He is, Sir,” Harry agreed, watching the headmaster’s face intently.</p>
<p>“Is that going alright for you? I’d understand, of course, if you wanted to request that someone other than Professor Snape be your guardian,” Dumbledore’s pale blue eyes twinkled in a way that sparked an urge within Harry to blind the man. “After all, the animosity between him and your father was legendary, and—”</p>
<p>“I don’t want a different guardian, Headmaster. I like Professor Snape,” Harry declared with enough finality in his voice that any reasonable person would know to drop the issue. He wasn’t about to let the headmaster get away with badmouthing his favorite professor. “And he’s never even mentioned my father, so I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”</p>
<p>Harry hadn’t even known that Professor Snape and his father knew each other, but he supposed it made sense since he’d been friends with his mother. Whether or not the two men had hated each other didn’t matter at all, though. Harry wasn’t his father, and Professor Snape didn’t treat him like he was. In the Potions master’s eyes, Harry was a Slytherin, Draco’s friend, and a kid who came from a bad home situation before he was a Potter.</p>
<p>The headmaster looked at Harry as if he thought the boy was a naive child who couldn’t possibly know what he wanted. “Even so, Professor Snape is hardly a suitable permanent guardian. It may work well during the school year, but what about the summer months? Surely you don’t want to inconvenience him for the next six summers.”</p>
<p>Harry wanted to scream. Even if that <i>was</i> an issue, he wasn’t about to talk to Dumbledore about. “I’ll talk discuss it with Professor Snape if it’s an issue then, Sir, and see if there’s anyone he would recommend to become my new guardian,” he said instead of screaming, though there was an edge to his voice.</p>
<p>“There’s no need to burden him with that kind of responsibility. I’d be more than happy to find you a new guardian.”</p>
<p>“No offense, Sir, but I don’t trust you to be a good judge of potential guardians,” Harry told him, no longer bothering to mask his irritation. “After all, <i>you</i> were the one who put me with the Dursleys, and all of wizarding Britain knows how that turned out.”</p>
<p>Dumbledore frowned. “Yes, that whole mess was an unfortunate mistake on my part. However, you must understand that I truly believed you’d be happiest living with your family. If I had known they were capable of acting in such a manner, I never would have left you with them.”</p>
<p>Harry’s instincts were shouting at him not to believe Dumbledore. The man was lying. For the first time during their conversation, Harry could see and sense everything with perfect clarity. It was as if Dumbledore’s occlumency shields had fallen and left his entire soul laid bare. And from what Harry saw now, there was no room for doubt that the headmaster was lying. Dumbledore had suspected from the beginning what the Dursleys might do and did nothing to stop it from happening.</p>
<p>Harry was going to kill Dumbledore. Not today, not when it would be so easily traced back to him, but it would happen. Dumbledore, he decided, deserved to die for what he did.</p>
<p>“I’d rather not suffer through you making the same <i>mistake</i> twice,” Harry bit out.</p>
<p>A cold, itchy sensation prickled at Harry’s temples. It felt as though some icy chill was trying to seep through his skull and enter his brain. Something, or someone, was trying to gain entry where they didn’t belong. </p>
<p>Harry glared at the headmaster’s unblinking eyes and focused on projecting just one thought as loud as he could—</p>
<p>
  <i>GET OUT OF MY HEAD!</i>
</p>
<p>Dumbledore recoiled as if he’d been slapped. </p>
<p>Blinding rage overtook Harry. “YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO LOOK INTO MY THOUGHTS!” he roared. “YOU HAVE THE <i>AUDACITY</i> TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS AND THEN TURN AROUND AND WONDER WHY I DON’T TRUST YOU?!”</p>
<p>“Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore tried weakly.</p>
<p>“I AM <i>NOT</i> YOUR BOY!”</p>
<p>Everything on the headmaster’s desk flew off in a violent burst of wind. Nicknacks and baubles crashed off their shelves and onto the flagstone floor. Nowhere in the office was safe from the tornado of destruction that whipped around Harry.</p>
<p>And then, suddenly, it stopped. Harry wasn’t sure of how he’d managed to get his magic back under control, and he was even less sure if he’d wanted it under control. He still had plenty of rage to let out.</p>
<p>Harry glared at the visibly shaken Albus Dumbledore, daring the man to try and punish him for what he’d done. “Don’t <i>ever</i> use legilimency on me again!”</p>
<p>Satisfied by the wreckage he’d caused and still too furious to care about whatever the consequences of his actions may be, Harry stormed out of Dumbledore’s office. He was going to make that idiotic headmaster pay for everything he’d done.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>Harry had barely made it ten steps out of Dumbledore’s office when he realized he was going to need a plan, and fast. He had no chance of getting away with what he’d just done, at least not for long. The headmaster might not take house points or assign him a detention, but there was sure to be some insidious plot already brewing in the man’s head.<p>It was no longer just that Dumbledore had lost his control over Harry’s life. Harry had also declared himself the old man’s enemy in a rather spectacular fashion. There was no recovering from that, only revenge, and Harry would need to prepare.</p>
<p>His first instinct was to ask Professor Snape for help, but he was worried that Dumbledore would go after Snape if he did. He would need to keep his plans out of the earshot of any professors just in case Dumbledore tried to use legilimency on them—or worse, if one of them ratted him out. The only people he could depend on were his friends. Even then, he’d need to be selective.</p>
<p><i>Hermione?</i> Harry called out through their mental link. He knew he could trust her above all else. What’s more, having her on his side would give him the best chance of success. She was the brightest witch of their age by a huge margin.</p>
<p>After a moment’s silence came the reply of: <i>Yes, Harry?</i></p>
<p><i>Meet me in the library as soon as you can,</i> he told her. <i>I just left Dumbledore’s office, and I need to talk to you.</i></p>
<p>
  <i>That won’t be a problem at all, as I’m already in the library.</i>
</p>
<p>Harry smiled to himself. Trust Hermione to always be in the library. </p>
<p>He made his way to the library quickly and with purpose. The sooner he talked to Hermione, the sooner he’d feel better. She always knew what to do.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>“Harry, are you alright?”<p>Relief washed over Harry as soon as he saw Hermione sitting at one of the tables in the far corner of the library. She was surrounded by thick textbooks, old newspapers, and archive files—all of which were stacked up so high that only her eyes and hair were visible behind them. It was a bit of a comical sight, or at least, it would have been had Harry not known that nearly everything around her was for research to find her birth family.</p>
<p>“No, not really,” he admitted, shaky from both nerves and anger as he sat down across from her. “I sort of just shouted at the headmaster and wrecked his office.”</p>
<p>Hermione gaped at him. “You did <i>what</i>? Why?”</p>
<p>“It’s kind of a long story.”</p>
<p>“Tell me everything!”</p>
<p>Harry did indeed tell Hermione everything that had transpired in the headmaster’s office. She had been annoyed when he’d told her how Dumbledore had tried to dissuade him from wanting Professor Snape as his guardian, furious that the headmaster had tried to use legilimency on him, and a mix of shocked and impressed when he destroyed the interior of the office through a violent burst of accidental magic. She’d even asked a few questions, though Harry didn’t always have answers for her.</p>
<p>“So what you’re saying,” Hermione surmised after the explanation, “is that you need to secure a more permanent guardian to shut Dumbledore up and keep him out of your business.”</p>
<p>Harry nodded his head vigorously. “Yeah, pretty much. A guardian who hates Dumbledore as much as I do would be an added bonus. I’m going to need all the allies I can get.” </p>
<p>“I don’t know how you’re going to manage that seeing as how so many people seem to worship the man. It’s annoying, really, how everyone just blindly trusts him just because he stopped Grindelwald half a century ago. What has he even done since then? Barely run a school?”</p>
<p>At some point during her research, Hermione had found a list of all the classes Hogwarts used to offer. There had been several more required classes and nearly twice as many electives offered one hundred years ago, and that number had steadily declined until Dumbledore became headmaster, at which point they plummeted until there was nothing more than the current meager list. Hermione had hated Dumbledore ever since.</p>
<p>Hermione had ranted for days about how angry she was that Ritual Magic, Alchemy, Spell Creation, and Introduction to Wizarding Culture were no longer a part of the curriculum. She wanted to take all of them, even if that meant she had to pick them up as extracurricular reading and teach herself. Harry admired her passion. He felt that if anyone could successfully push for curriculum changes, it would be Hermione.</p>
<p>“Maybe I could get Professor Snape to adopt me,” Harry suggested, surprised by how easy it was to imagine that exact scenario.</p>
<p>Professor Snape didn’t seem to like Dumbledore all that much. Besides, the name Harry Snape didn't sound half bad, at least not in his opinion. He couldn’t think of a single objection to moving into the dungeons permanently and becoming Snape’s assistant brewer in the summers. In fact, it sounded downright idyllic. Maybe he could even try and convince Snape to show him how he gets his robes to billow so dramatically behind him… </p>
<p>Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Harry, be serious about this. The headmaster would never allow Professor Snape to adopt you, not when he’s so clearly trying to steer you away from him.”</p>
<p>“I don’t see how it’d matter what Dumbledore wants. Professor Snape already told me that Dumbledore isn’t allowed to interfere with my guardianship if I don’t want him to.”</p>
<p>One of the outcomes of the Dursley trial that the <i>Daily Prophet</i> failed to report on was that, due to gross negligence of his duties, Dumbledore had been permanently removed as Harry’s magical guardian. But the Wizengamot hadn’t stopped there. As of the end of January, Dumbledore was no longer permitted to be anyone’s magical guardian ever again. No one was really even sure of how he’d ever managed to become Harry’s magical guardian in the first place, and there were vague discussions of whether or not it ought to be looked into.</p>
<p>Harry doubted that anyone would actually do any more investigating into Dumbledore without clear evidence of severe crimes. He’d barely received more than a slap on the wrist for his role in the abuse of <i>The Boy Who Lived</i>. Harry wondered if even murder was a heinous enough crime to put Dumbledore behind bars. The man was far too powerful.</p>
<p>“Dumbledore might not be able to personally interfere with your guardianship, but that doesn’t mean he won’t get other people to do it,” Hermione stated, making much more sense than Harry wanted to admit. “What you need to do is find a blood relative who’s willing to become your guardian. It’s the only thing no court would be able to contest.”</p>
<p>“But all my relatives are either dead or in Azkaban,” Harry reminded her.</p>
<p>Hermione thought for a moment, and then her eyes lit up. “Maybe not! I mean, what if there’s more to the Potter family tree than you’re aware of? Or what if it turns out your mum had a magical relative that’s still alive? I read all about this one theory that all muggle-borns are descended from dormant lines of magical families. Your mum could have had a magical grandparent who’s still out there. We could look into it together and see what we find.”</p>
<p>Harry was impressed by Hermione’s ideas, but he’d noticed that she hadn’t brought up what the two of them had seen in the Mirror of Erised. He was so certain that the two of them were related, and that they were also related to Draco in some way. But his gut feeling on the matter wasn’t enough to go on. Hermione was right. They needed to investigate.</p>
<p>“Alright,” Harry decided. “I’ll help you look for your family if you help me look for mine.”</p>
<p>Hermione beamed at him. “I’d like that a lot.”</p>
<p>Harry felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He and Hermione were going to find their families. And, if his instincts were correct, the families they found would prove to be one and the same.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Completing the Set</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hermione makes a life-changing discovery in the library</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>still don't own harry potter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>February faded into March without a single breakthrough regarding either Harry or Hermione’s families. The Hogwarts library contained no resources available to map out family trees, no birth records, and absolutely nothing that portrayed the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black in a positive light (much to Hermione’s dismay). Hermione knew she was expecting too much of a school library, but she had hoped that at least some of the information they needed could be found with the rest of the archived newspapers and school rosters. Apparently even that was too much to hope for.</p><p>But Hermione refused to let something like inadequate, incomplete records stop her. She’d never once come across a problem she couldn’t solve, and she was determined to keep it that way. She just needed to get more creative in her researching.</p><p>After the dead-end of looking for people called Bella who went to school with Professor Snape, Hermione had decided to expand her search. She doubted anyone younger than Snape could possibly be her mother because of how young the professor was, but she’d checked the class roster for the two years below him just to be safe. As expected, she found no viable leads.</p><p>Today’s search would be dedicated to the class rosters of students who had graduated before Professor Snape started Hogwarts. Hermione still suspected that this Bella person couldn’t be too much older than the Potions master, but she mentally prepared herself for the possibility that she was indeed much older and had graduated a number of years prior to Snape’s school years. She just hoped she wouldn’t have to scour through too many more years of students before finding her answer.</p><p>Hermione had just tracked down the roster for the 1969 graduating class when Harry slammed shut yet another modern wizarding history book and groaned. He had attended every single one of Hermione’s family research sessions for the past three weeks, and he was shaping up to be almost as effective of an investigator as her. He still tended to miss some of the finer details and got discouraged easily, but he made up for it with his stellar instincts.</p><p>It had been Harry’s idea to look for information on the Potter family in modern history books. “Most books that get into the last wizarding war mention by parents, so it stands to reason that some might go farther back than that,” he’d told her one day as he cracked open <i>Modern Wizarding Conflicts Around the Globe</i>. Hermione had to admit he raised a good point. There was always a chance that one of those books might describe his father as “son of so-and-so Potter” and give him a strong starting point.</p><p>“I’m starting to think we won’t be able to figure this out by the end of the school year,” Harry grumbled before lying his head down on the table in an act of defeat.</p><p>“You can’t think things like that. If you do, then it turns into a self-fulfilling prophecy,” Hermione chastised him. She couldn’t have her co-researcher lose hope so quickly. They would figure everything out well before the end of the year. They had to. </p><p>“I’m not saying I’m giving up,” Harry hastily explained. “Just that I don’t think we’ll find what we’re looking for here. We need a bigger library, or maybe a visit to the Ministry’s Hall of Records.”</p><p>Hermione conceded that a bigger library would be helpful, but she refused to accept that they needed one in order to figure this out. There had to be some way to get the information they needed without leaving Hogwarts, or worse, waiting until summer.</p><p>She wasn’t even sure if continuing her research would be possible in the summer. She doubted the Grangers would drop her off at the Leaky Cauldron, and she didn’t know how else to get to wizarding Britain. As far as she was aware, the Hogwarts library was her only viable option.</p><p>“Well, I’d still need to pinpoint who I’m looking for before I could try the Hall of Records. I don’t have a full name or birthdate to track down like you do,” Hermione reminded him. “It’s not like I can pull every single record for the entire lineage of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black in the hopes of finding a Bella and any children she may or may not have had.”</p><p>Harry grimaced at that. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.” His eyes wandered toward the stack of old Hogwarts records to Hermione’s left. “Hey, pass me one of those class rosters. I’ll help you with your search and do mine later.”</p><p>Passing Harry the graduating class of 1968, Hermione mumbled a sincere, “Thanks.” It hadn’t been her intention to guilt him into offering her help, but she wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity to have a second pair of eyes on her side.</p><p>Hermione turned her attention back to the graduating class of 1969. There was a Mirabella Abbot right at the top of the A surnames that sounded promising. She added the name to her mostly crossed out list of leads so that she could return to it once she finished reading the rest of the names for that class year.</p><p>No other potential Bellas were in the rest of the A surnames or the first half the B’s. But once she reached “Bl”, Hermione found a name that made heart beat so hard and so fast that she feared it might break through her ribcage: Bellatrix Black.</p><p>This had to be the Bella that Hermione had spent the last several months looking for. Both her first and last name fit into the clues she’d inadvertently received—her first and last name tying back to both Professor Snape’s utterance of “Bella?” at the Mirror of Erised and the mention of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black that had come from Professor Quirrell’s explanation on metamorphmagi. She was also close enough in age to Professor Snape that it was reasonable to assume they knew each other, though they likely would have met after they’d both left Hogwarts. And on top of all that, she was also just shy of thirty years older than Hermione. There was no doubt at all. Bellatrix Black was her mother.</p><p>But why had this woman left Hermione at Wool’s Orphanage? Why had she allowed the Grangers to adopt her child? What happened to Bellatrix Black after graduating from Hogwarts?</p><p>A million possible explanations swirled through Hermione’s mind, each worse than the last. Perhaps her mother—or even both of her parents—had died. They might have been casualties in the last wizarding war. It was a common enough trend among her classmates’ families after all. Harry’s parents were dead, and it was well known amongst the other students that Neville Longbottom lived with his grandmother and Susan Bones lived with her aunt. There was every possibility that Hermione’s family might’ve been killed off like so many others during that time.</p><p>But what if they were alive? What if Bellatrix Black been deemed an unfit mother? Wizarding Child Services might have taken Hermione away because she was in some sort of danger. Hermione had read several mentions of the Black family madness in old wizarding history books, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that her mother had simply snapped one day and was no longer capable of raising a child.</p><p>But the most horrifying possible explanation of all didn’t involve death or an inability to care for a child. No, Hermione’s biggest fear was that she’d discover that her mother never wanted her in the first place. The possibility of learning she had been willingly abandoned by a parent who was alive and well pained her too much to even think about. She didn’t know what she’d do if that proved to be the truth.</p><p>The sound of rustling papers reminded Hermione that she wasn’t alone at the table. Harry was still sitting across the table from her, diligently going through the 1968 class roster. As she looked up from the class list in her hand and over at Harry, Hermione was overcome with the need to bring her friend up to speed.</p><p>“I’ve found something,” she declared, surprised by how breathless she sounded. “A big something.”</p><p>“What?” Harry asked excitedly, papers quickly forgotten. “A lead?”</p><p>Hermione nodded and slid the roster in front of him. “Look there,” she instructed, putting her index finger right beside the name.</p><p>“Bellatrix Black,” he read aloud. Confusion then surprise then glee flashed across Harry’s face in rapid succession. “Hermione, that’s incredible! You might’ve just found your mother’s name.”</p><p>“I need to do more research on her, but I’ve got a really good feeling about this,” Hermione admitted. She wasn’t about to jinx things by telling him that she was almost entirely certain she’d found the right person.</p><p>Hermione got up from the table, and, keeping the name and approximate age of her potential mother at the forefront of his mind, began scouring the archived newspapers for any mention of Bellatrix Black.</p><p>There were no mentions of her in any of the newspapers from the years 1969, 1970, or 1971. It was starting to look like Bellatrix had simply dropped off the map after graduation. With wizarding Britain being as small as it was, the personal sections of the <i>Daily Prophet</i> chronicled every major event in every single witch and wizard’s life. Marriages, births, and deaths could be found sandwiched between the op-eds and less flashy news stories. Even a good portion of Ministry officials were named in the <i>Prophet</i> at least once or twice a year when something happened in their department. Yet Bellatrix was nowhere to be found.</p><p>And then, in 1972, Hermione hit the jackpot: a wedding announcement for a marriage between Bellatrix Black and a man named Rodolphus Lestrange. Now she had her father’s name as well as her mother’s.</p><p>The last name Lestrange sounded familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place why. It had something to do with the last wizarding war. At least, she’s pretty sure that’s where she’d heard it. Perhaps someone in her family had been involved in the war after all. She just hoped that didn’t mean they all really <i>were</i> killed off during Voldemort’s rise to power.</p><p>Hermione spent the next two hours combing through old copies of the <i>Daily Prophet</i> for any other mention of either Bellatrix or Rodolphus Lestrange. She didn’t find much about either of them for years, but she found quite a lot about the slow rise of the Death Eaters. It was fascinating to read about it through the lens of contemporary news articles rather than the neat, clear-cut summations presented in history books.</p><p>It hardly seemed like a war at all for the first few years. Rather, it had been portrayed as a movement with a few goals that even Hermione could have found herself supporting: equal rights for intelligent and humanoid magical creatures, legalization of the Dark Arts, and drastically reduced interaction with the muggle world. Even their stance on removing magical children from their muggle families didn’t sound all to bad to her, though she could admit she was biased due to her own upbringing. All in all, they didn’t sound nearly as bad as historical accounts made them out to be.</p><p>And then, toward the end of the 1970’s, the narrative began to shift. The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters were written about in an increasingly antagonistic tone. Portrayals of their goals went from being described as reasonable to heinous—with a such a quick turn from becoming a more insular society to mass murder of muggles that Hermione had trouble finding the change believable. Either the Death Eaters had spent the majority of the decade sanitizing their goals to win people over, or the Dark Lord had gone completely insane around the end of the decade.</p><p>Hermione was so engrossed in the saga that was the rise of the Dark Lord that she’d almost completely forgotten her initial goal by the time she came across a front page headline that knocked the breath from her lungs.</p><p>
  </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>
      <b>LESTRANGE TWINS MISSING AFTER AUROR RAID</b>
    </i>
  </p>
</div><i></i><br/><p>Below the headline was a photograph of two infants being held by a regal looking couple that Hermione recognized from the Mirror of Erised. She couldn’t quite tell if the hair or eye colors were the same because the photograph was in black and white, but there was no mistaking their distinct features. They looked younger and far less haunted in here than in the Mirror, and the way they smiled so adoringly at their children made Hermione’s heart clench. They looked so happy, just like Hermione imagined a loving family would be.</p><p>She checked the headline again, took a deep, steadying breath, and began to read.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Hydrus and Hermione Lestrange, the twin infants of Rodolphus Lestrange and Bellatrix Black-Lestrange, were reported missing shortly after an Auror raid that left two suspected Death Eaters dead and another two injured. Among the injured was the twins’ mother Bellatrix, who spent six days in intensive care at St. Mungo’s while she recovered from a number of physical and curse-induced wounds that she’d sustained during the raid.</i>
  </p>
</div><p>The article went on to provide details about both the raid and the missing twins, but Hermione was still stuck on the first sentence. She felt as though her lungs had forgotten how to breathe and her heart had forgotten how to beat. She’d found her real name. She had always been Hermione after all, but never quite a Granger. Lestrange felt far more familiar in her mouth than her muggle surname ever had.</p><p>But it was so much more than that. She wasn’t just Hermione Lestrange. She was part of a set of twins. A set… </p><p>
  <i>The lone twin.</i>
</p><p>How many times had the Weasley twins called her that? How many times had she thought nothing of it? Brushed it off as nothing more than a term of endearment? Fred and George had been right all along. She was indeed a lone twin.</p><p>
  <i>Waiting to complete the set.</i>
</p><p>Her brother was out there somewhere. She was certain of it. Something in her insisted that she’d know if he had died. And when Hermione tracked him down, they’d be able to complete the set just as the Weasley twins had said.</p><p>Her twin was at Hogwarts, she realized. There might not have been anyone called Hydrus in her year, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t here. Like her, he must have ended up in a new family, probably with a different name. She supposed his appearance must have been changed just like hers as well, since she didn’t know of any students who looked like the boy standing next to her in the Mirror of Erised—the boy she now knew was her twin brother.</p><p><i>No,</i> she thought. There was no way. It couldn’t possibly be… </p><p>“Harry?”</p><p>Harry looked up from the papers in front of him, completely oblivious to the maelstrom brewing in Hermione’s head. “Yes, Hermione?”</p><p>“What exactly did Professor Quirrell say to you about twins and mental links?”</p><p>“That twins have the only naturally occurring mental links,” he replied easily. “All the other links have to be forged in some way.”</p><p>That settled it. Harry and Hermione had never done any work to create their mental link. Harry’s ability to hear her thoughts could be explained by his being a natural legilimens, but Hermione had no such ability to explain how she could hear his. Besides, nonverbal legilimency relied on eye contact. How many times had the two of them used their mental link to communicate while in entirely different rooms?</p><p>She didn’t know how it had happened, but her friend wasn’t always Harry Potter. He wasn’t a Potter at all, at least not by blood. Sitting across the table was her twin brother Hydrus Lestrange.</p><p>Hermione found herself suddenly overwhelmed by all the things they needed to. Find a way to confirm their identities. Contact the DMLE. Find out where there parents were and if they were alive. Legally change their names back to the original Hydrus and Hermione Lestrange. Get their appearances restored. Tell all their friends about what happened. Deal with what was sure to be a media circus. Figure out how to be the people they were meant to be all along. Become a family.</p><p>It all came at her so fast that she feared she might be buried in the impending avalanche of her own thoughts. She had no idea how to go about any of this, especially not as an unaccompanied child in an unfamiliar world. There was no way they could do it all without help.</p><p>“We need to get a professor involved,” Hermione decided, though she found little relief from it. “Immediately.”</p><p>Harry cocked his head to the side, confused. “What? Why?”</p><p>“Because of this.”</p><p>Hermione pushed the <i>Daily Prophet</i> article toward Harry. He glanced at the headline and then up at her, alarm written all over his face.</p><p>“You need to read the article as well as the headline,” she told him. “It’ll all make more sense after that.” <i>Or it might make things even more of a confusing mess,</i> added a nagging voice in the back of her head that she tried very hard to ignore.</p><p>Harry turned his attention back to the article and began to read. Hermione watched on with rapt attention, analyzing every flicker of emotion that flashed across his face. For the most part, he kept swinging back and forth between confusion, dismay, and the five stages of grief—none of which seemed all that encouraging. Hopefully this wasn’t a sign that he’d react poorly to the news of their being related.</p><p>After several excruciating minutes, Harry put down the <i>Prophet</i> and looked up at Hermione. He stared at her in shocked silence, still processing what he’d just read, before saying: “But this means we’re…”</p><p>“Exactly,” Hermione agreed.</p><p>“Right. Okay.”</p><p>It was clear to Hermione that Harry didn’t truly agree with the words that had just come out of his mouth. He still looked far too confounded to think anything was right or okay.</p><p>“Well…” He trailed off, seemingly distracted by whatever it was going on in his head. “Professor Snape should be in his office this time of day.”</p><p>Hermione sucked in a shaky breath. They were really going to do this. As soon as they did, everything would go from theory to reality. It would change everything. She was terrified, and yet, there was nothing in the world that she wanted more.</p><p>“Let’s go.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>Harry spent the journey to Professor Snape’s office in a daze. Everything he thought he knew about himself was a lie. He wasn’t Harry Potter. He wasn’t even a Potter, at least not by blood. His real name was Hydrus Lestrange, and he had been taken from his parents. His <i>suspected Death Eater</i> parents. How could he be both the Boy Who Lived and the son of two of Voldemort’s followers?<p>Had his parents—<i>no</i>, he corrected himself, <i>Lily and James Potter</i>—known the truth? Had they been told that they child they were taking in had been kidnapped from his real family? Had they been the ones to kidnap him? And if they had, why hadn’t they kept Hermione as well?</p><p>And what if they truly <i>hadn’t</i> known? Someone would have had to give Harry to them. Had that person been the one to kidnap him? Were the Potters friends with people who were capable of stealing children? Even if his real parents <i>had</i> been Death Eaters, it didn’t give anyone the right to kidnap their children.</p><p>And who had changed his appearance? Why go through all that effort of making him look like a Potter if not to hide the truth? Someone had gone to great lengths to ensure that no one ever made the connection between “Harry Potter” and Hydrus Lestrange, perhaps to the point of concealing it from even the Potters. He just didn’t understand what would compel anyone to do such a thing.</p><p>A truly disturbing possibility popped into Harry’s head. What if he’d never been with the Potters at all? What if the real Harry Potter had been killed by Voldemort that Halloween night, and he was nothing more than some sort of backup being used to inspire hope? What if there never was a Boy Who Lived? Every aspect of his identity may very well be a lie.</p><p>“...Harry? Harry!”</p><p>Harry startled at the sound of someone calling his name. He glanced around, disoriented, until he realized that the person calling for him was Hermione—who he had forgotten was standing right beside him this entire time. She wore a worried expression, which gave Harry the feeling that this wasn’t her first attempt to get his attention.</p><p>“Yeah?” he finally replied.</p><p>Hermione frowned. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice laced with concern. “That was the fourth time I called your name.”</p><p>There was no point in lying when it would be all too obvious that he was, so Harry admitted: “I’m not sure yet. It’s a lot to take in.”</p><p>“Everything’s going to be so different now,” Hermione agreed.</p><p>“That’s one way to put it.”</p><p>Harry didn’t understand how Hermione could be so normal about all of this. How wasn’t she freaking out? They’d just discovered that they were twins! Twins who had been kidnapped from their Death Eater parents as babies, no less. And the word she’d chosen to describe it all was <i>different</i>? </p><p>He vaguely wondered if she was handling it better than he was because she’d already known she was adopted. If nothing else, that was one less shock for her to deal with. Harry, on the other hand, had spent the past decade certain he was the biological son of Lily and James Potter. In fact, it had been one of the only things in life that he thought he’d known. The Dursleys may have lied to him about countless things—his wizard status and how his parents had died among the biggest lies—but he’d at least assumed they’d been truthful about his name.</p><p>Hermione put a reassuring hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out.”</p><p>“How do you know?” he asked.</p><p>“Because it’s us.”</p><p>Despite everything, Harry believed her.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>It turned out that Professor Snape was not, in fact, in his office. Hermione had panicked at first, worrying that they wouldn’t be able to find him until the next time one of them had him in class (which was far too long to wait to act on news like this), until Harry suggested they check one of the potions labs.<p>Several minutes and two empty classrooms later, they found their professor in an otherwise empty potions lab with the door ajar. He was hard at work brewing some strange potion that emitted a dark, purplish smoke. His brow had furrowed in deep concentration as he chopped vervain stems with the speed and skill of a chef. A few greasy strands of his ink black hair had fallen into his eyes, though, as focused as he was on his task, he didn’t seem to notice.</p><p>Hermione made to enter the lab, but Harry put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Never approach him while he’s working,” he warned her in a hushed voice. “He won’t realize you’ve come in until you’re right in front of him, and he doesn’t react well to being snuck up on.”</p><p>It sounded like there was a story of some sort behind that warning that Hermione would one day be interested in hearing, but for now, the only thing that mattered was telling Professor Snape what she’d discovered.</p><p>Heeding Harry’s words, she knocked on the half-open door.</p><p>There was no answer.</p><p>Hermione knocked a second time, this time calling out: “Professor Snape?”</p><p>The Potions master looked up from the potion in front of him and turned his gaze to Harry and Hermione. He wore the expression of someone who had just been hit with the Confundus Charm, wide-eyed and unfocused, as he tried to reacquaint himself the world outside of his potion.</p><p>“Yes, Ms. Granger?” he replied.</p><p>Hermione braced herself. This was it. Nothing would ever be the same again.</p><p>“I need you to contact the DMLE,” she announced. “I’ve just had a major breakthrough in a missing persons case.”</p><p>The knife in Professor Snape’s hand fell onto the workbench with a sharp clang, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Tell me everything.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The Last Will and Testament of Lily and James Potter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Harry, Hermione, and Professor Snape go to Gringotts. While there, they uncover yet another mystery.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>jk rowling still owns harry potter, but she sure as hell doesn't own how much cooler i made her characters</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Severus Snape stared wide-eyed at the two children in front of him as they explained their case. Nearly a decade of collecting evidence and putting together a case against Albus Dumbledore for his involvement in the twins’ disappearance had just been made obsolete by the work of two first year students.</p><p>Yet Severus was overcome with relief. There had been no way of pushing the DMLE to reopen the investigation after it went cold, not without presenting to them new and compelling evidence. So far, Severus and his allies had found nothing more than their own suspicions and a single statement from Sirius Black, none of which were enough to warrant law enforcement getting involved. But if the twins were found and demanded to know who had taken them, the DMLE would be forced to resume their investigation.</p><p>He hadn’t even realized that he’d accidentally called Hermione by her mother’s name the night he’d found the two children standing in front of the Mirror of Erised. All he could remember was thinking how similar the two looked, and being startled out of his thoughts when the girl’s appearance returned to the guise of Ms. Granger. He had heard the stories of baby Hermione shifting her looks to match whichever parent was holding her, but witnessing it was another thing entirely.</p><p>And for Hermione to take his genuine advice to read up on the metamorphmagus ability as some sort of clue, discover that it was a trait unique to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, and then connect of all that together to find the name Bellatrix Black went above and beyond <i>anything</i> he’d seen from a student in all his years of teaching. Even NEWT level students struggled to put that level of logical deduction and creativity into their research.</p><p>Hermione had certainly inherited her fathers’ intellect. While Bellatrix had a quit wit and a sharp tongue, both the Dark Lord and Rodolphus were the most studious, dedicated researchers of their inner circle. There wasn’t a single subject the Dark Lord couldn’t fully investigate until he achieved a mastery of it. Rodolphus, on the other hand, was an indirect descendent of Rowena Ravenclaw and had inherited the eidetic memory and unending thirst for knowledge indicative of that Most Ancient and Legendary House. It should have come as no surprise that a child of theirs had not only been sorted into Ravenclaw but was the brightest student in her year—and possibly the brightest in the entire school.</p><p>“And that, Professor,” Hermione announced as she ended her explanation, “is why we need your help contacting the DMLE.”</p><p>It took Severus nearly a full minute to finish processing the mountain of information that had just been dumped on him. He felt like he’d just listened to someone recite their mastery paper, and was still blown away by how impressive it all was. Whatever this young girl decided to do with her future, she would surely become the top expert in that field. The world would just have to hope she didn’t decided to conquer it, for there was no doubt in Severus’ mind that she’d succeed.</p><p>“We’ll need to get this all sorted immediately,” Severus decided, thanking his years of occlumency training for helping him to reign in the nervous excitement that was bubbling up within him with such intensity that it threatened to burst from him at any moment.</p><p>Harry and Hermione gave each other a surprised look before breaking out into matching relieved grins.</p><p>“Thank you so much for taking us seriously, Professor,” Hermione told him earnestly.</p><p>Harry nodded in agreement.</p><p>Severus balked at the idea that he could have done anything but take them seriously. Even if he hadn’t already been made aware of their true identities long before the start of this school year, it would have been impossible to refute the thoroughly investigated evidence of their claims. No rational human being would be able to deny them their request to have their case brought to the authorities.</p><p>“It is my duty as someone responsible for children to take them seriously when they present me with information on their own alleged kidnapping,” he replied, hoping that he didn’t sound too personally invested. It wouldn’t do to come off as too interested and have the two children come to the correct conclusions about his Death Eater history. He’d need to get a better read on both of them before deciding if he could reveal that particular detail.</p><p>Harry didn’t look all that convinced. “Not to be rude, Sir, but most adults don’t really listen to the concerns of kids.”</p><p>Severus understood the boy’s skepticism. Much like Harry, he too had spent years suffering while his accusations of abuse against his father were ignored. He eventually gave up on trying to improve his circumstances like so many children in that position do.</p><p>The problem of not being listened to by adults had followed him to Hogwarts as well, with professors dismissing the Marauders’ constant harassment as mere pranks. And after he had begun to stand up for himself and fight back, the professors used that as proof that everything was fine and he could handle it. It was because Severus understood how unreliable adults could be that he had long ago promised himself to never become one of those adults who looked the other way while children suffered.</p><p>“Have I ever given you the impression that I’m most adults, Mr. Potter?” he asked even though he already knew the answer.</p><p>“No, Sir,” Harry answered immediately with a vigorous shake of his head, and Severus could see clearly that the boy was being truthful.</p><p>“Now that all matters related to my listening abilities are settled,” Severus began, causing Harry to drop his gaze to the floor, “we need to formulate a plan of action. The investigation won’t be reopened unless we can present the Aurors with proof beyond paper trails, so our first stop will have to be Gringotts.”</p><p>“Gringotts?” Hermione skeptically repeated. “Why there, Professor?”</p><p>“Because, Ms. Granger, goblins are the only truly neutral third party the wizarding world has for establishing lineage. They’ll be able to prove your parentage with just a few drops of blood.”</p><p>Hermione’s eyes widened in understanding. “In that case, when can we go?”</p><p>Severus thought on it for a moment before deciding: “Give me ten minutes. I need to put this potion under stasis and make a few calls. Wait here and tell no one what you’ve told me.”</p><p>“Yes, Sir,” Harry and Hermione replied in unison.</p><p>After a quick stasis spell and a note to his future self stating where to resume his work, Severus grabbed the floo powder off the mantle. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Lucius’ face when he told him what had just happened.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>Harry could hardly believe that he’d once thought his <i>first</i> Gringotts visit had been nerve-wracking. The wizarding world had been so overwhelming back then, and going into a bank run by goblins to retrieve money he’d never even known he’d had felt like such a massive deal. But none of that newness and strangeness of that day could have prepared him for the gut-twisting anxiety of his second visit.<p>The bank felt bigger somehow, or maybe he just felt smaller. All the teller stations seemed to tower over him twice as high as they had in July, and his footsteps echoed off the stone tiles twice as loud, drawing the attention of every single goblin in the front lobby. Too many pairs of eyes were looking down at him. Too little else was going on to take the attention off of him. If not for Professor Snape and Hermione’s reassuring presences, Harry might’ve run out into the alley to escape the feeling of being watched like an animal at the zoo.</p><p>“We’ve been expecting you for some time now, Mr. Potter and new guardian,” said one of the goblins as the trio approached his station. “And friend,” he added when he spotted Hermione. “I take it you’re here to have the Potter will read.”</p><p>Harry cocked his head to the side, confused. He’d expected his par—<i>no</i>, he had to remind himself yet again—the Potters’ will would have been read years ago when they’d died. It couldn’t possibly be normal procedure to wait this long. Could it? </p><p>“Have the…” Professor Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, looking both thoroughly stressed and thoroughly annoyed. “You mean to say that the Potters’ will hasn’t been read at any point in the past ten and a half years?”</p><p>The goblin gave a terse nod. “That’s correct. The previous guardian to Harry Potter had the will sealed upon the deaths of James Potter and Lily Evans-Potter.”</p><p>Professor Snape’s expression shifted from annoyed to furious. “Could you give us a moment?” he asked the goblin.</p><p>“Certainly.”</p><p>Trying and mostly failing to reign in his anger, Professor Snape turned his attention to Harry and Hermione, who both had to remind themselves that it wasn’t being directed at them. “I know this isn’t what we came in for, but only a Potter or the Chief Warlock can unseal the will. It would be in our best interest to deal with this matter first and then request the inheritance tests.”</p><p>Harry nodded. It made perfect sense. Hydrus Lestrange wouldn’t be able to have the will read, and Dumbledore was the Chief Warlock. If his true identity came out first, there was no telling when the Potters’ will would be read—if ever. Professor Snape needed a Potter for just a little while longer in order to get a wrong righted for his long dead best friend.</p><p>“Okay,” Harry agreed. “I’ll do it.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>Several minutes later, Harry found himself sitting in a private back room with Hermione, Professor Snape, and the account manager for the Potter estate—an older looking goblin called Ragnok. Ragnok was trying to explain the ins and outs of how wills and inheritances worked, but Harry didn’t understand a word the goblin said. Something about executors and lineage and fiscal liability…<p>Professor Snape had asked one of the other goblins to floo Malfoy Manor to tell Lucius Malfoy—which, it turned out, was the name of Draco’s father—about the change in their plans. The Potions master had explained to Harry and Hermione before they’d arrived at the bank that he didn’t know much of anything about law or politics, but he’d invited Mr. Malfoy to meet them at Gringotts as soon as he could because <i>he</i> did. The more complicated everything got, the more thankful Harry was that his professor had thought to contact someone who could help them.</p><p>“Now that you’ve got the basic rundown, I just need your permission to unseal the will for reading,” Ragnok said at the end of his speech.</p><p>Harry very much did <i>not</i> have the basics down, but went ahead anyway and told Ragnok: “You have my permission to unseal the will.”</p><p>A gold light washed over the will, and Harry was suddenly very glad that he at least remembered what Ragnok had mentioned about him needing to say the entire sentence like that for magic to make it binding. He might’ve ended up looking like an idiot otherwise. </p><p>Ragnok gave him a toothy grin, and, taking out a small knife, slashed the wax seal on the will. “Very well. Let’s begin.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><i>I, Lord James Fleamont Potter,</i> spoke the will in a friendly male voice, “<i>hereby declare that this is my last will and testament, and that I hereby revoke, cancel, and annul all wills and codicils previously made by me either jointly or severally. I declare that I am of legal age to make this will and of sound mind, and that this last will and testament expresses my wishes without undue influence or duress.</i></p>
</div>Seconds later, a woman’s voice filled the room.<div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>I, Lady Lily Jeanine Evans-Potter, hereby declare that this is my last will and testament, and that I hereby revoke, cancel, and annul all wills and codicils previously made by me either jointly or severally. I declare that I am of legal age to make this will and of sound mind, and that this last will and testament expresses my wishes without undue influence or duress.</i>
  </p>
</div>Grief came crashing down on Harry. These voices belonged to the Potters. They may not have been his parents by blood, but he’d spent over a decade thinking they were, and he still felt a sense of loss at the thought of their passing.<div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Harry James Potter was and born and pronounced dead on 31 July 1980. He was a stillborn, and it broke our hearts. We buried him in the family plot on the grounds of Potter Manor so that he will always be close to us. It is our desire to be buried beside him.</i>
  </p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p><i>In the late fall of 1980, Albus Dumbledore came to us asked that we take in a baby who he said was orphaned by the war,</i> continued the voice of James Potter. <i>This child, though we’ve grown to love him like a son, is not the late Harry Potter. In fact, we suspect that he is Hydrus Salazar Riddle-Lestrange—one of the missing Lestrange twins.</i></p>
</div>Harry sucked in a breath. He’d been expecting to hear some confirmation that he wasn’t truly Harry Potter, but it still came as a shock. It wasn’t just a theory anymore. It was real, and he had no idea how to handle that.<p>He wished he could pause the reading somehow so that he could take a moment to come to terms with his life and his name proving to be a lie, but he doubted such a thing was possible. The recordings of the dead cared not that what they were saying was too much to handle all at once.</p><p>Rather than being granted a moment’s reprieve, though, the interior of the bank dissolved, dragging Harry and the others somewhere entirely unfamiliar. It was a jarring experience, watching one’s surroundings melt into something completely different, and it made Harry feel a bit dizzy. He sincerely hoped this wasn’t a common occurrence in wizarding wills.</p><p>As the edges of their new location became less blurry, he could see that they had been thrust into a cozy, warmly lit living room. Everything around them was red and gold, giving Harry the distinct impression that this house belonged to Gryffindors. It wasn’t unpleasant, per se, but whoever lived here had gone a bit overboard.</p><p>A dark haired man with round glasses sat on a burgundy couch in the middle of the room. He wore an expression of both exhaustion and worry while he tried to consol the crying baby in his arms.</p><p>“A memory,” Hermione whispered, her voice brimming with fascination.</p><p>Taking another look around at his surroundings, Harry realized that Hermione was right. They had been sent into a memory belonging to James Potter.</p><p>It felt a bit wrong, watching the memory of a dead man, and Harry had to remind himself that James Potter willingly invited them here before he could once again focus on the scene playing out before him. Even then, there was something about the domesticity of the scene that made Harry feel as though he was intruding on a private moment that he had no business seeing.</p><p>“What’s wrong, my little prongslet?” James asked the baby in a quiet, concerned voice. “You’re not usually so fussy this time of day. Please don’t tell me you’re getting sick.” Frowning, he added: “Well, I guess you really <i>can’t</i> tell me. You don’t know many words yet, do you?”</p><p>The baby—who Harry recognized as the infant version of himself—stopped crying to stare up at James. James looked grateful for the silence, sighing in relief. He gave baby Harry a tentative smile, which the baby returned.</p><p>“Have you got it all out of your system now?” he teased as he lifted baby Harry up to kiss him on the forehead.</p><p>Baby Harry giggled at the kiss. And then, just as everyone thought the tantrum was over, his expression darkened once more and he wailed: “MIA!”</p><p>James jumped, startled by the sudden shout, and nearly dropped the baby.</p><p>“Mia?” he asked once he recovered. “Who’s Mia?”</p><p>Rather than continue to carry on, baby Harry looked directly into James’ dark, bespectacled eyes.<br/>
As he did, the image of a curly haired baby girl appeared at the forefront of James’ mind—as well as the minds of everyone witnessing James’ memory. She had rosy little cheeks and the trademark silver eyes of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. There was no mistaking the baby girl’s identity.</p><p>“Mia,” James repeated, sounding breathless and ever so slightly panicked. “Hermione?”</p><p>“Mia!” the baby agreed, nodding his little head in confirmation.</p><p>James stared silently at baby Harry for a long while before shrieking: “LILY! HELP!”</p><p>As soon as he did, the figures in the memory disappeared, and the sure, steady voice of Lily Evans-Potter read from the will once more.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Sirius Black was our Secret Keeper, but do not assume he betrayed us should we come to pass through violent means. He will have had no part whatsoever in our deaths, and to accuse him of such would be a miscarriage of justice. Sirius has always been fiercely loyal to his friends, and especially to James.</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>He was so loyal, in fact, that he did something for us that no one else would dare to: he entered the Death Eaters’ headquarters to pass along our message to Voldemort.</i>
  </p>
</div>Everyone in the room was once again thrown into a memory. This time, though, there was no cozy living room or vignette of domesticity. Instead, what stood before them was the main hall of a spacious, stately manor decorated in pale silver and brilliant emerald green. There were a few people sitting at together at the far end of the table that ran the length of the hall, though they were all facing the opposite direction.<p>A man with wavy black hair and crimson eyes sat at the head of the table and spoke to the others in a voice too low to be heard from Harry’s end of the hall. He exuded the casual confidence and refined poise of nobility, and it seemed as though he had drawn in everyone around him with a magnetic sort of charm. <i>This must be <b>his</b> manor</i>, Harry surmised.</p><p>A familiar looking young man with curly black hair and aristocratic features stood at threshold. He held himself with pride and dignity, but Harry could see the telltale signs of his nervousness—shaking hands, unsteady breathing, and hesitation in meeting the eyes of anyone in the room. It was all to clear that he’d rather be anywhere but here.</p><p>“There’s no need to wait at the door, Sirius,” said the crimson-eyed man in a calm, even voice. “You may enter.”</p><p>The eyes of everyone in the room turned to the young man at the threshold, to Sirius. He gulped and then stepped forward, his gait odd and too controlled as he approached the cluster of people at the other end of the hall. </p><p>Harry recognized every single person in attendance as someone he’d seen standing behind him in the Mirror of Erised. So many of those one-time strangers were now named, now had meaning to him. He knew the silver-eyed, curly haired woman was Bellatrix and the brown haired man with dark blue eyes beside her was her husband Rodolphus—and that they were his birth parents. And thanks to the crimson-eyed man (who Harry suspected might be Voldemort), he knew Sirius’ name as well. The two blondes sitting next to one another could not possibly be anyone else but Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, for they looked so very much like Draco. But the second brunette with dark blue eyes and the man who looked similar to Sirius, though Harry felt some sort of connection to them, remained nameless.</p><p>“What do you want, <i>dear cousin</i>?” Bellatrix demanded to know as Sirius got closer, spitting out the familial term as if it burned her tongue. “Have you come to continue the Light’s noble work of stealing our children? Perhaps you’ve come to take Narcissa’s son Draco this time.”</p><p>Sirius flinched at the accusation. “Of course not, Bella. I would never.” he insisted. “An attack on one member of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black is an attack on <i>all</i> members.”</p><p>“Because you’ve been such a stunning example of what it means to be a Black, you spineless blood traitor!” Bellatrix shot back.</p><p>“Bella, please. This is no time for petty familial disagreements,” the crimson-eyed man warned, effectively silencing her, though she looked none too happy about it. “State your business, Sirius.”</p><p>“I’m here on behalf of the Potters,” Sirius explained. “Lily and James asked me to deliver a message.”</p><p>The crimson-eyed man arched a curious eyebrow at that. “A message from my cousin? I would be most interested in hearing it.”</p><p>Everyone sitting around him nodded in agreement.</p><p>“Right. Okay.” Sirius took a deep, steadying breath. “A few months ago, Albus Dumbledore showed up at Potter Manor with a baby he claimed was an orphan. He asked Lily and James if they could take the child in, and they agreed.”</p><p>“Yes, of course,” the crimson-eyed man agreed. “Charlus, wasn’t it? After James’ grandfather?”</p><p>Sirius gave a shaky nod.</p><p>“Is the child alright?” Bellatrix asked, a hint of panic in her voice. </p><p>“He’s perfectly fine,” Sirius quickly assured her. “The thing is they don’t believe he’s an orphan like Dumbledore said.”</p><p>The blonde woman gasped. “Surely you can’t mean…”</p><p>“I do, Cissy. They’ve had suspicions regarding the child’s true identity for several weeks now,” Sirius explained. “But two nights ago, he did something that confirmed those suspicions. He spoke to Lily’s python Angitia, truly spoke to her. He’s a parselmouth.”</p><p>The room fell so silent that one could hear a pin drop, and then—</p><p>“My baby boy!” Bellatrix screeched.</p><p>“Our Hydrus,” Rodolphus agreed, looking as though he might cry tears of joy.</p><p>Even the crimson-eyed man seemed to be effected a great deal by the news, though his reaction was far more restrained than those around him.</p><p>“Where are they?” he asked, the shakiness in his voice betraying his emotions.</p><p>“They’ve been placed under a Fidelius in Godric’s Hollow. Dumbledore is convinced you’ll come after them, that someone is going to betray them and give their location to you.” With slightly shaking hands, he pulled a scrap of parchment out of his pocket. “This is their address. Memorize it, and then burn it. They’ll be expecting you.”</p><p>The crimson-eyed man smiled at him, a genuine smile. “Thank you, Sirius. There are no words to describe how grateful I am for what you’ve done today.”</p><p>Sirius gave the crimson-eyed man a mock salute in reply, and then turned to leave. He walked as quickly as he could without coming off as impolite, which was clearly far slower than he wanted, considering the relief on his face as he made his way out.</p><p>“Sirius?” Bellatrix called after the young man.</p><p>He stopped and turned on his heel. “Yes, Bella?”</p><p>“Has there…” Her voice faltered, and for a moment, it looked as though she wouldn’t be able to find it again. “Have you heard anything about my Hermione?”</p><p>Sirius frowned, bringing worry lines to his otherwise youthful face. “No, I haven’t, but I promise you that I will never stop trying to find her and bring her back to you.”</p><p>“Because an attack on one member of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black is an attack on all members,” Bellatrix finished for him, a sad smile gracing her lips. “Perhaps you’re not as much of a traitor as I thought, dear cousin.”</p><p>“Perhaps we were both wrong.”</p><p>Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the stately manor swirled out of view.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Giving our location to Voldemort was perfectly safe. His true name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, and he is a cousin of Lily’s through the Gaunt family line. He gave his word long ago that this relation was of importance to him, and that no harm would come to our family. Because of this, we do not feel that our deaths could have been at his hands.</i>
  </p>
</div>This time, the memory took them somewhere outside. It was an idyllic summer day with a cerulean sky, a brightly shining sun, and a calm breeze that would occasionally rustle the leaves of the treetops above.<p>A redheaded teenage girl with brilliant green eyes leaned against a tree, a lit cigarette dangling between her lips. Every so often, she’d crane her neck and look around, almost like she was waiting for someone to arrive.</p><p>This was the youngest Harry had ever seen Lily Potter. In fact, she looked so young that he supposed she was still Lily Evans in this memory. Yet, despite her obvious youth, she wore the worried expression of someone far older and far, far more jaded.</p><p>“Must you indulge in that filthy muggle habit of yours?”</p><p>Lily spun around toward the now familiar voice of the crimson-eyed man. “Indeed I must, Tom,” she quipped, taking a long drag from the cigarette. “‘Desperate times call for desperate measures’ and all that jazz.”</p><p>“I’d hardly call graduating from Hogwarts desperate times,” Tom replied, disdain written all over his face, “so kindly put that disgusting thing out.”</p><p>Lily stuck her tongue out but did as she was told. “Happy?”</p><p>“I’d be happier if you stopped smoking. You do know those things can kill you, right?”</p><p>“Not if the war kills me first,” she snapped.</p><p>Tom gave her an appraising look. “And here we reach the crux of the issue. I take it <i>this</i> is why you asked me to meet you here today.”</p><p>Lily nodded hesitantly.</p><p>“Has someone on the side of the Light threatened you?” Tom demanded to know. Both his voice and expression grew dangerous, fire dancing behind his red eyes. “You need only give me a name, and I can—”</p><p>“No, it’s nothing like that,” Lily quickly cut him off, not wanting to hear the gory details of whatever threat was forming in Tom’s mind.</p><p>Tom cocked his head to the side. “Then why do you fear the war will kill you?”</p><p>“Because I don’t like either side!”</p><p>A tense silence fell between Lily and Tom. Rather, a tense silence fell over Lily while Tom watched on with only an arched eyebrow and a casual level of interest. It was as if he had all the time in the world to wait for her to get around to whatever it was she planned to say. </p><p>Lily, on the other hand, grew increasingly agitated. Her fingers twitched, and she made several false starts for the pockets of her robes, like there was something in them that she desperately wanted but couldn’t have—most likely her cigarettes.</p><p>“I know you were hoping I’d join your side after graduation, that we’d finally be able to act like a normal family,” Lily began slowly after a while. She had decided on simply putting her hands in her pockets and leaving them there. “But I don’t fully agree with your aims. You and your Death Eaters are too extreme for my taste, and some of your methods are… unsettling.”</p><p>Whatever reaction Lily had been expecting from Tom never came. He considered her words calmly and then stated, “I take it there’s a ‘but’ coming up soon.”</p><p>Lily let out a shaky sigh. “But I don’t trust Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix either, not like James does. Something about him just feels, I don’t know, artificial? It’s like he’s playing a character all the time instead of acting like a real person.” She shook her head, as if trying to get rid of an unpleasant memory. “And his outright hatred of anything outside of modernists with Light affinities is… highly concerning for someone with magic as Dark as mine.”</p><p>Harry was shocked to learn that Lily Potter had been a Dark witch. Everyone who had told him about the Potters had mentioned that Lily was the type of person who was endlessly kind and saw good in everyone. Such a description was entirely at odds with everything Harry had been taught about those with Dark affinities. But after a quick glance over at Professor Snape and seeing his complete lack of reaction to Lily’s words, he knew that it must be true.</p><p>Did that mean there were others with Dark affinities who were good people? Did he know any? Was Professor Snape a Dark wizard? Was James Potter?</p><p>What other lies had he been taught about Dark Magic and those who wielded it?</p><p>“You and I are all that remain of Salazar Slytherin’s great legacy,” Tom told her in a tone that made it clear that this was a well-known fact between the two despite it being yet another shock for Harry. “No matter what you choose, you need not fear anyone from my side.” He held up his right hand and declared: “You are protected.”</p><p>A rush of warm, reassuring magic settled over them as Tom’s oath was sealed.</p><p>“Thank you,” Lily said earnestly once the magic’s glow faded. “But… what of James?”</p><p>“I will tell my Death Eaters that your pet Gryffindor is to be left alone,” Tom decided, sounding less than impressed.</p><p>Lily rolled her eyes at Tom’s choice of words before replying, “And I’ll warn him not to provoke your little followers.” After a beat, she added: “Oh, and Tom?”</p><p>“Yes, Lily?”</p><p>“I’ve got a friend who’s looking to join you now that we’ve graduated. Severus Snape,” she said, a smile gracing her lips as she spoke her friend’s name. “Publicly, we’re pretending to be on the outs, both to gain him more respect among his fellow Slytherins and to throw off Dumbledore’s suspicions that I’m ‘going dark’ or whatever he’s calling it now. Privately, though…” She lifted her left hand to show a long scar that ran across her palm. “Take good care of him, okay? Merlin knows he deserves it.”</p><p>Tom’s eyes widened in understanding. “Of course I will. You know full well that I take care of family.”</p><p>With one last smile from Lily, the memory dissolved, leaving all the witnesses back in the private room at Gringotts.</p><p>The will continued to speak, going into detail about who was meant to inherit what. Yet Harry couldn’t focus on a single word of it. Every memory he’d seen today played over and over in his head on repeat, begging him to over-analyze every new detail he noticed in the most recent iteration.</p><p>He wasn’t the Potters’ son. Harry James Potter was dead. Professor Snape was a Death Eater. Voldemort didn’t kill the Lily and James Potter. Voldemort was Lily Potter’s cousin. They were both heirs to the Slytherin line. Voldemort’s real name was Tom Marvolo Riddle. Even if he <i>had</i> managed to at least have somewhat come to terms with the first part, everything else had shaken the foundation of what Harry thought he knew until there was nothing left. Was there a single truth at all in the historical accounts of the night that had labeled him The Boy Who Lived?</p><p>And then it him. Tom Marvolo Riddle. T.M.R.! It had to be more than coincidence. But why would Voldemort send him a Christmas present? And how? Had Hagrid been right in his suspicions that he was still out there waiting to return once he regained his strength? Had he ever truly been gone?</p><p>What did it all mean for Harry?</p><p>“Well,” said Ragnok as the will finally came to a close, snapping Harry back to reality. “I think it’s safe to say that an Inheritance Test is in order. And perhaps a call to the Aurors as well.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>let's be real. there was no way lily and snape could've been friends if lily wasn't at least somewhat of a rebellious and/or punk teen.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Inheritance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>time for the inheritance tests</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>characters allegedly owned by jk rowling, so all rights to her or whatever</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione’s mind was reeling. She may have had her suspicions and her paper trail, but the Potter will contained conclusive evidence that her friend wasn’t Harry Potter. In fact, it was safe to say that he wasn’t a Potter at all. Rather, he was almost certainly Hydrus Lestrange and almost certainly her twin brother.</p><p>She wanted to ask her friend how he was coping with the news, but she knew neither what to say nor if she could say it with enough concern in her voice to mask how unbelievably thrilled she was. It wouldn’t be at all fair to him for her to show off her excitement at having a family when he had, in a way, just lost his. Even if he hadn’t known them, Harry had known <em>of</em> them and had carried their surname for nearly all his life. Now, after their Inheritance Tests were done, he wouldn’t even have the last name Potter to remember them by.</p><p>Unsure of what to say and still processing some aspects of the will herself, Hermione sat in silence. She may have figured out the truth of her and her friend’s (<em>no</em>, she told herself, <em>her brother’s</em>) parentage, but she could never have possibly predicted any of the other revelations that the Potters’ will had brought to light. She felt as though all her months of research had barely scratched the surface of a mystery that was far, far larger than that of her own identity.</p><p>That Lily Potter was a Dark witch hadn’t surprised Hermione as much as she thought it should. After all, the Potters were widely viewed as martyrs, and their deaths a powerful sacrifice for the side of Light. And while the Potters were historically a Gray family, James Potter had been an outspoken proponent of the Light. The very idea of Lily Evans-Potter having anything to do with the Dark should have been too impossible to consider.</p><p>Yet Lily had been best friends with Professor Snape, who was all too obviously a Dark wizard, and, according to Lily’s memories, most likely a Death Eater as well. This fact hadn’t bothered her at all. Instead, they’d even gone as far as performing the Rite of Blood Brotherhood—if that scar on her palm was anything to go by. Between all of that and the blood-powered protection rune that had been carved into Harry’s forehead (Hermione had read enough about Dark runes to know it wasn’t a curse scar), it wasn’t hard to guess that she’d either been accepting of the Dark Arts or had been a fully fledged Dark witch herself.</p><p>Learning that Lily was a relative of Voldemort’s <em>had</em> come as a surprise. Hermione had read all about the Dormant Heritage Theory—which asserted that muggle-borns came from dormant wizarding lines and tended to be born within three generations a squib ancestor—but theory alone never could have prepared her for the bombshell that the most famous muggle-born witch in modern history had been a not too distant relation of the alleged muggle-born hater Lord Voldemort. Even stranger was the casual closeness between the two.</p><p>Another world-altering reveal had been the Dark Lord’s true name. Tom Marvolo Riddle. There was no doubt about it. Voldemort was T.M.R. Somehow, Voldemort was still alive and had pieced it together that Hermione Granger had been born Hermione Lestrange. And for some reason that Hermione didn’t yet understand, Voldemort had used this knowledge to send her a Christmas present.</p><p>But the biggest surprise of all had been the assertion by the Potters that Voldemort was not responsible for their deaths. Rather, it appeared that the Potters had gotten along with the Dark Lord. Or, at the very least, Lily had. They’d even gone as far as giving out their location to the Death Eaters so that Hydrus Lestrange could be reunited with his parents. They clearly hadn’t seen Voldemort or his followers as a threat.</p><p>That begged the question: if Voldemort didn’t kill the Potters, then who did? And why did he disappear on the same night as their deaths? Were the events related in some way? Had he gone to visit them and been in the way of whoever <em>did</em> kill them? What exactly had happened on that fateful Halloween night in 1981? At the very least, Hermione knew It had to be more than mere coincidence. She just couldn’t figure out how it all fit together, not yet anyway.</p><p>“Sorry for the delay,” announced a male voice with an upper-class accent, snapping Hermione out of her attempts to solve a decade old murder mystery.</p><p>Hermione turned toward the doorway to see an aristocratic looking man with long, white-blonde hair and the same expression of vague superiority that she’d seen on Draco’s face a thousand times. This, she realized, was Draco’s father—Lord Lucius Malfoy.</p><p>He strode toward them, his polished black walking stick clicking rhythmically against the tile floor. As he got closer, Hermione could see even more similarities between father and son. Mr. Malfoy had the same pointed chin, angular cheekbones, and perfectly straight nose as Draco. His face was a bit thinner and pointier than Draco’s and his eyes were blue instead of Draco’s gray, but the resemblance was still uncanny. Hermione had no doubt that Draco would grow up to look even more like his father than he already did.</p><p>“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long,” Mr. Malfoy said once he made his way over to them. “There was some urgent business that needed settled before I could meet with you.”</p><p>Ragnok dipped his head in a shallow bow. “Welcome, Lord Malfoy. I’m sure it’ll be a pleasure doing business with you once more.”</p><p>“So good of you to finally join us, Lucius,” Professor Snape sarcastically greeted the man, not even bothering to turn and give the man his full attention. “I only contacted you two hours ago.”</p><p>“And what a productive two hours it’s been,” Mr. Malfoy said with the sort of grin people only used for photographs and not because they were happy. “I’ve brought in a lawyer to go over the Potter will, contacted a few Aurors who are… sympathetic to those of us who are less than Light, made a few calls to my contacts at the <em>Daily Prophet</em>, and, of course, asked Narcissa to pick up two transfer of custody forms before she meets us here.”</p><p>Transfer of custody papers? Hermione mentally rejoiced. Those must be for her and Harry. She wouldn’t have to go back to her adoptive parents, and her friend would have a more permanent guardian than his Head of House.</p><p>Mr. Malfoy looked terribly pleased with himself, but Hermione noticed that Professor Snape wasn’t at all impressed. She wasn’t sure why, as it sounded like quite the accomplishment to her. But, based on his body language, she suspected it had more to with the Potions master just not being generally impressed by Mr. Malfoy as a person rather than because of what he’d said.</p><p>“Because making calls is such taxing work,” Professor Snape quipped.</p><p>Mr. Malfoy pointedly ignored Professor Snape’s remark and turned to Harry and Hermione. “Ah, but where are my manners? Lucius Malfoy, Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy,” he introduced himself, giving the two children a slight bow. “But if the two of you are who we all think you are, I must ask that you call me Uncle Lucius.”</p><p>Hermione’s widened in surprise. Uncle Lucius? She supposed she should have expected that, seeing as Mrs. Malfoy was originally a Black. She was most likely related to Bellatrix Lestrange in some way, and must have some familial connection to the Malfoys because of that. Still, it was odd to imagine calling a man as regal and refined as Mr. Malfoy by anything but his last name.</p><p>“It’s very nice to meet you,” Hermione told him, deciding it would be best not to outwardly refer to him as anything until she had the results of her Inheritance Test.</p><p>Harry nodded in agreement. “I’d introduce myself, but I’m not really sure who I am at the moment.”</p><p>Mr. Malfoy shot Harry a sympathetic smile. He opened his mouth to reply, but was quickly silenced by the arrival of two men in bright red robes. The Aurors had arrived.</p><p>“Are any of you Severus Snape?” asked the first one.</p><p>“We’re here about the Potter will,” the second one explained.</p><p>Professor Snape turned his attention to the Aurors, then the two children, and then back to the Aurors. “I didn’t expect you to arrive so quickly,” he admitted. “Lucius, would you mind—”</p><p>Mr. Malfoy waved him off. “Go on, Severus. I’d be more than happy to bear witness to the Inheritance Tests in your stead.”</p><p>“Very well,” Professor Snape decided. He stood up gracefully, his robes billowing behind him in a way Hermione wished she could imitate. “Let us take our leave, Officers. I’m sure you have questions that may not be… suitable to ask in front of such young children.”</p><p>With that, Professor Snape followed the two officers out of the room.</p><p>“Now that all that’s settled,” Ragnok drawled, not even waiting for the door to fully shut behind the three men. “Are we ready to begin?”</p><p>Harry and Hermione nodded their heads, while Mr. Malfoy stated, “Yes, I believe we are.”</p><p>Ragnok grinned in response, and then handed Harry and Hermione each a piece of parchment and what looked to be a sharp-tipped steel pin. “Prick your fingers and allow three drops of blood to fall onto your papers,” he directed.</p><p>Hermione did as she was told without a moment’s hesitation. The finger prick stung and made her fingertip throb in time to her heartbeat, but it was worth it when she saw the parchment react to her blood. Red faded into black ink, slowly sprawling out to form neatly written words. Taking a steadying breath, she looked down at the first portion of the still materializing text.</p><p>
  <b>NAME: Hermione Cassieopeia Riddle-Lestrange</b><br/>
<b>MOTHER(S): Bellatrix Discordia Black-Lestrange</b><br/>
<b>FATHERS(S): Tom Marvolo Riddle (Natural), Rodolphus Xavier Lestrange (Blood-Adoption)</b><br/>
<b>GODMOTHER: Narcissa Electra Black-Malfoy</b><br/>
<b>GODFATHER: Rabastan Algernon Lestrange</b>
</p><p>She’d been right! She truly was the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange! Even with the proof right in front of her, she could hardly believe she’d managed to figure it all out with little more than a couple of vague clues and archived newspapers. It seemed almost to good to be true.</p><p>What she hadn’t expected was to see that she had two fathers, let alone that one of them was Voldemort. It certainly explained a lot, though. Her ability to speak Parseltongue. The Christmas gift. The fact that he’d been standing right behind Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange in the Mirror of Erised with his hands on their shoulders. Whether it was polyamory or simply a need for a sperm donor, she didn’t know, but there was some small part of her that got a thrill out of being the Dark Lord’s child. She probably shouldn’t, but she didn’t really care.</p><p>Excited by her results and curious about Harry’s, she looked over at his parchment to see: </p><p>
  <b>NAME: Hydrus Salazar Riddle-Lestrange</b><br/>
<b>MOTHER(S): Bellatrix Discordia Black-Lestrange</b><br/>
<b>FATHERS(S): Tom Marvolo Riddle (Natural), Rodolphus Xavier Lestrange (Blood-Adoption)</b><br/>
<b>GODMOTHER: Narcissa Electra Black-Malfoy</b><br/>
<b>GODFATHER: Rabastan Algernon Lestrange</b>
</p><p>Hermione felt a smug sense of pride that she’d been right about his identity as well, which was quickly replaced by overwhelming happiness at having a twin brother. She’d always wanted siblings, always felt like something was missing from her life because she didn’t. Now she understood why. Her other half had been taken from her, and she’d lived with that ache like a phantom limb, always feeling <em>something</em> she could never quite understand or explain. She silently vowed to never again be separated from him.</p><p>Feeling oddly complete, Hermione turned her attention to her brother’s face. Her twin was just as surprised by that one particular aspect of the results as she was. He did not, however, appear to be accepting it as easily as Hermione had. Instead, he stared at the offending name with such intensity that it looked as though he was trying to will it away.</p><p>Hermione frowned. His reaction was beginning to ruin her good mood.</p><p><em>VOLDEMORT’S OUR DAD?!</em> came Harry’s—or rather Hydrus’—panicked voice through their twin link.</p><p>Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Hermione told him, <em>One of them, yes.</em></p><p>“Well, I guess that explains Iris,” Hydrus said with a shrug. His shoulders were still tense and there was unease in his eyes, but Hermione appreciated that he was at least trying to act like he wasn’t still freaking out.</p><p>“Iris?” Mr. Malfoy, who she was now supposed to be calling Uncle Lucius, asked.</p><p>“My snake,” Hydrus elaborated. “I got her for Christmas with a note signed T.M.R.”</p><p>At first, Hermione was shocked by that bit of information. Then she was irritated. Her twin hadn’t told her that, and there was nothing she hated more than not knowing things. If she’d known he’d gotten a gift from T.M.R. as well, she might have figured out that they were twins sooner.</p><p>“You told me Iris was an anonymous gift!” she accused.</p><p>Hydrus put his hands up. “Hey, the initials T.M.R. felt pretty anonymous at the time.”</p><p>Hermione readied herself to continue arguing, only to remember that she hadn’t mentioned anything about her bracelet being from T.M.R. either. They were both guilty, it seemed, of undervaluing what had clearly been an important clue.</p><p>“If we could get back to the matter at hand,” Ragnok interrupted them, looking somewhere between annoyed and exasperated.</p><p>The twins each gave him a sheepish grin and a mumbled apology.</p><p>“The test shows more than just parentage,” the goblin continued. “If you look back down at your parchment, you’ll see that the magical inheritances have begun to appear.”</p><p>Hermione glanced down at her parchment to see that Ragnok was right. As the ink continued to creep down the page, new lines of text slowly formed.</p><p><b>TITLE(S):</b> it spelled out, <b>Heir Lestrange (Primary), Heir Slytherin (Secondary), Heir Gaunt (Tertiary)</b></p><p>Hermione’s eyebrows shot up nearly to her hairline. She remembered Voldemort telling Lily Potter that they were the last of the Slytherin line, but she hadn’t realized that they were the heirs. According to all the books she’d read, the Slytherin name had disappeared in the seventeenth century and that the only other known Slytherin descendants—the Gaunt family—had gone extinct in the 1950’s when Morfin Gaunt died in Azkaban Prison without a known heir. For Hermione to inherit both titles meant that Gaunt either had a sibling who had children or had a child of his own that wasn’t known about.</p><p>Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed that Hydrus’ titles, though they came from the same families, had appeared in a different order.</p><p>
  <b>TITLE(S): Heir Slytherin (Primary), Heir Gaunt (Secondary), Heir Lestrange (Tertiary)</b>
</p><p>“What are the primary, secondary, and tertiary notations after the titles?” Hermione asked, hoping that either Uncle Lucius or Ragnok would be able to explain.</p><p>Uncle Lucius considered her question for a moment before explaining: “You are both heirs to the Slytherin and Gaunt lines through the Dark Lord, and the Lestrange line through Rodolphus, but you will only inherit the lordship for your primary line.” He looked at the twins to make sure they were following along. “In most cases of multiple titles being passed to multiple children, parents will ask Lady Magic to evaluate their children’s magical gifts so that She may decide the best title for each child to inherit.”</p><p>Hermione wondered if this practice was in any way related to the muggle science of genetics. She was curious how Lady Magic quantified the inherited traits to make Her decision. It just had to be a more complex calculation than simply discerning a split in magical gifts. Was physical appearance taken into account as well? Temperament? Affinities? Surely families would want more than just inherited magic to decide who became their heir.</p><p>“So basically I’m more of a Slytherin and Hermione is more of a Lestrange?” Hydrus asked, combining all of Hermione’s questions into their simplest form.</p><p>Uncle Lucius inclined his head in confirmation.</p><p>“The Inheritance Tests,” Ragnok impatiently reminded them yet again.</p><p>“Right,” Hyrdrus quickly replied, though he didn’t look nearly as guilty as he had the last time they’d interrupted the test reading. “Sorry.”</p><p>The twins looked down at their parchment once more to find that yet another line had materialized.</p><p>
  <b>AFFINITY: Dark</b>
</p><p>Considering everything else she’d learned today, Hermione wasn’t surprised at all to find that she had a Dark magical affinity. Family history might not be the only factor in the shade of one’s affinity, but it tended to be a strong contributing factor. She could imagine no other result as the child of three Dark parents from historically Dark families.</p><p>A glance over at Hydrus’ parchment showed—</p><p>
  <b>AFFINITY: Dark</b>
</p><p>Hermione cautioned a glance at her twin, expecting to find Hydrus panicking again, and was pleasantly surprised to find that he wasn’t. If anything, he looked relieved. She made a mental note to try and find out why that was later.</p><p>Not wanting to risk further annoying Ragnok, Hermione resumed staring at her own parchment and watched as the next line filled in.</p><p>
  <b>MAGICAL GIFT(S): Metamorphmagus, Parseltongue, Eidetic Memory</b>
</p><p>No surprises there.</p><p>“Occlumency?” Hydrus skeptically read from his parchment. “That can’t be right. Professor Snape said I have a mind like a sieve.”</p><p>Hermione snorted at that. Regardless of the state of her twin’s occlumency abilities, his facial expressions gave away more than enough insight into his thoughts and feelings that even non-legilimens could read him like an open book.</p><p>But a quick glance confirmed what her twin had said.</p><p>
  <b>MAGICAL GIFT(S): Parseltongue, Legilimency, Occlumency</b>
</p><p>He truly was supposed to be an occlumens.</p><p>“I’m sure you’ll discover why that it is if you just <em>focus on the test</em>,” Ragnok gritted out.</p><p>Uncle Lucius looked as though he was about to lose his temper with the goblin, so Hermione quickly intervened by saying, “We’ll get back to it right now.” It worked for the most part, but she still heard her uncle mutter something about “no respect for the Dark Lord’s heirs”.</p><p>Ragnok proved to be right as the final portion of the Inheritance Test made itself known.</p><p>
  <strong>BLOCK(S):    Magical Core - 50%</strong><br/>
<strong>                      Metamorphmagus - 92% (Partially Broken From Full Block)</strong>
</p><p>Hermione gasped. She was horrified to know that someone had put blocks on her magic. Who would do such a thing, especially to someone so young? She remembered the dangers of magical blocks that <em>Daily Prophet</em> had written about in that article about the Dursleys. Health effects. Chronic illness. Even death. That someone had done this to her made her stomach twist with dread and disgust.</p><p>By the look of things, Hydrus was no better off. He wore an expression of barely contained rage as he read his own results.</p><p>
  <strong>BLOCK(S):    Magical Core - 50%</strong><br/>
<strong>                      Legilimency - 87% (Partially Broken From Full Block)</strong><br/>
<strong>                      Occlumency - 100%</strong>
</p><p>A second gasp escaped Hermione’s lips at the sight of her brother’s magical blocks. Like her, someone had blocked half his magical core and had tried to completely block his inherited magical gifts—with the exception of Parseltongue, which, if the blocks had occurred shortly after their abduction, made sense as babies under a year old typically didn’t have any sort of language skills, human or otherwise. Whoever had done this likely had only allowed them to keep their Parseltongue out of ignorance of its existence.</p><p>But that wasn’t the only irregularity she noticed. There was something else that caught her attention as well, something she didn’t quite understand.</p><p>“How can the blocks be <em>partially</em> broken?” Hermione asked. Shouldn’t it be an all or nothing sort of deal? After all, she’d shifted her appearance the night they’d encountered the Mirror of Erised. Didn’t that mean she’d gotten the ability back? “And how does something like that even happen?”</p><p>“And who the hell put them on us?” Hydrus demanded to know.</p><p>Hermione elbowed her brother in the ribs. “Language!”</p><p>Hydrus rolled his eyes at her. “I think I’ve earned the right to say whatever I want when it comes to this. We both have.”</p><p>“With blocks as old as these, there’s no possible way of tracing the magical signature responsible for performing them,” Ragnok explained, ignoring the continued bickering between the twins. “All we can do at this stage is report them to the property authorities and then remove them. However, it’s safe to assume that these blocks were performed either by the person who abducted you or perhaps an accomplice.”</p><p>That was frustrating. Hermione would have liked to see whoever did this go to Azkaban, and she was fully aware that her brother felt the same—or perhaps wanted a more personal revenge. It looked like they would have to wait and see if the DMLE could come up with any leads, but Hermione had her doubts. After all, they’d gone eleven years without so much as bringing in a suspect for questioning. Either their kidnapper had been incredible at covering his tracks, or the DMLE was utterly useless. Perhaps both.</p><p>“But you <em>can</em> remove the blocks?” Hydrus pressed.</p><p>Ragnok gave a terse nod. “Certainly. It’s a fairly quick ritual, maybe a half hour per block.”</p><p>Tension eased out of Hermione at the goblin’s assurance. She’d have her name, heritage, and magic all restored before the end of the day. It wasn’t enough to make up for the fact that all of those things had been taken from her in the first place, but it was a start.</p><p>“Is it possible you could do something about these glamors on them as well?” Uncle Lucius asked, frowning in distaste as he gave the children a once-over. “It won’t do at all to have the Lestrange heirs to look so… unlike their true selves.”</p><p>“Indeed we can, Lord Malfoy,” Ragnok assured him with a toothy grin. “Indeed we can.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>two more chapters, and then you all have to suffer through my version of book 2</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. A New Lease on Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>hydrus and hermione know who they are now, but how do they tell everyone else? meanwhile, one of the revelations from the potter wills effects an azkaban inmate.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i own nothing</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry had never thought of himself as being particularly vain. After all, it was hard to care much about one’s appearance while living in a boot cupboard and wearing ragged, old extra large sized hand-me-downs despite an extra small sized build. But as he stared into the mirror the goblins had provided him, he couldn’t help but obsess over his new reflection.</p>
<p>Now that he was Hydrus, he decided that he had every reason to be vain. Harry Potter had been a too skinny, too obviously neglected and abused runt of a kid with messy hair, sunken cheeks, and bright eyes stuck behind half-destroyed glasses. Hydrus Lestrange, though, had a healthy, cared for look about him, with his tameable wavy hair and high cheekbones and his 20/20 vision navy blue eyes. He looked so much like Voldemort now—save for Bellatrix’s nose and Rodolphus’ eyes—and was surprised to find he didn’t mind at all. It was nice, he decided, to know he got his looks from the family he belonged to.</p>
<p>The only downside to his new appearance was that he still had that stupid lightning bolt scar on his forehead. No matter what family he came from or what face he wore, he still bore the mark of the the false title of Boy Who Lived. What had he even supposedly lived through? Who was it that killed Lily and James Potter?</p>
<p>Hydrus still felt a pang of guilt whenever he thought about the Potters. He’d worn their looks and their last name for longer than he could remember, and now every trace of them had been erased from his person. He couldn’t help but worry that he was betraying them somehow. They had lost two children now, both at some point called Harry James Potter. Even though he was nothing more than a stolen replacement, the longing he’d felt for the people he’d thought were his family for so long wasn’t about to disappear with the same quick easiness as his false identity had. </p>
<p>“Hydrus?” Hermione’s hesitant voice called from beside him. “Are you alright?”</p>
<p>After the Inheritance Test had been completed, Hydrus and his sister (he was still getting used to calling her that) had undergone the process of having all their magical blocks and glamors removed. They’d insisted on going through it all together, side by side, refusing to be separated so soon after the day’s revelations. Even now, several hours later, they both dreaded the thought of being apart and couldn’t bear it that they’d be in different common rooms once they returned to Hogwarts.</p>
<p>Hermione had come out of the restoration rituals with a jovial lightness that Hydrus had never before seen in her. It was as though the guise of Hermione Granger had been weighing her down all this time, holding her prisoner within her own heart and mind. But now, with her bushy brown hair replaced by springy black curls and dull brown eyes brightened to a beautiful silver, she was free.</p>
<p>Hydrus considered her question for a long while before deciding, “No, not yet. But I will be.”</p>
<p>Hermione smiled at him, her teeth now straighter and a better, smaller fit for her mouth. Her eyes momentarily darkened to navy blue and her curls relaxed into waves, an unintentional mimickry of her brother’s appearance that Hydrus had taken to regarding as some sort of sympathetic gesture.</p>
<p>“We both will be,” she promised. </p>
<p>The twins fell into a comfortable silence. No longer were they burdened by the web of lies that had kept them from each other for over a decade. No longer were they cloaked in glamors and falsehoods and solitary suffering. No longer were they anything other than themselves.</p>
<p>There was a peacefulness to their silence, a soundless acceptance that their pasts could no longer hurt them—at least not in a meaningful way. Hydrus’ rebellious, righteous anger would always be with him, as would Hermione’s desperate desire to prove her worth, but the hurt that shaped them would never come back to finish the job of trying to break them.</p>
<p>“Do you remember that book you gave me for my birthday?” Hermione asked after a while. “Or rather, my old adoption day?”</p>
<p>Their birthdays were now on the fourteenth of May, according to their Uncle Lucius, and Hermione was in fact still only eleven. It was a strange, silly little detail that for some reason had distressed her. She’d apparently felt like a liar for having told so many people that she was twelve.</p>
<p>Hydrus nodded. He wasn’t likely to forget that strange compulsion to buy a book he’d never heard of and keep it with him for an occasion he hadn’t yet anticipated happening.</p>
<p>“It’s about a girl named Matilda who isn’t at all appreciated by her family, so she fills all that time being ignored with books and discovering how to control the strange new powers she’d developed.” Hermione flushed, likely because she knew how similar she was to this book’s protagonist. “She spends all this time being unloved and underestimated by everyone around her except for one teacher. Eventually, her parents get in trouble with the law and go on the run, but Matilda stays behind. She gets adopted by that teacher who always believed in her, and she gets to have her own happily ever after with their new, little found family.” Smiling softly, she confessed: “I used to imagine something like that happening to me, and now, against all odds, it has.”</p>
<p>“I used to do the same,” Hydrus admitted out loud for the first time in his life. “I used to imagine that I had a family out there waiting for me, that they’d rescue me from the Dursleys and I’d spend the rest of my life loved and wanted.”</p>
<p>Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder. “And now you will. We both will.”</p>
<p>She was right. Hydrus knew she was. Because even if nothing else worked out from this point on, which he found doubtful, he would always at least have his sister with him. They were together again, and they’d always have a loving family in each other.</p>
<p>The twins fell once more into a comfortable, companionable silence. No words were needed, not right now. They had plenty of time to simply exist together before they were to speak with the Aurors and Uncle Lucius’ friend from the <i>Daily Prophet</i>.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>Returning to Hogwarts had filled Hydrus with both elation and dread. He couldn’t wait to see his friends again, to start practicing magic with his true power levels, and see the horrified expression on Dumbledore’s face when he realized he could no longer control his little symbol for the Light. But he also feared increased attention from the other students, as well as possibility of retaliation from the old man. Worst of all, though, he was consumed with anxiety over how his friends might react.<p>What if it turned out his friends had only liked him because they’d thought he was Harry Potter? What if they stopped talking to him now that he wasn’t? What if they hated him for being from a Dark family? He’d seen how some of the other students treated his fellow Slytherins—and even some of the Ravenclaws—for having historically Dark surnames. He fretted over what sort of backlash he’d face for being the son of the Dark Lord and two convicted Death Eaters rather than Dumbledore’s Golden Boy. </p>
<p>“If any of the other students give you a hard time about your parentage, do not hesitate to let me know,” Professor Snape had instructed them as they made their journey back to the castle. “And Ms. Lestrange, Professor Flitwick is wholly neutral to the affairs of wizardkind and will no doubt help you should you ever need it.”</p>
<p>While Hydrus was sure Professor Snape had meant this a way of reassuring the two children, it only heightened his worry. Should he be worried about bullying? About being physically attacked by his classmates? He sincerely hoped he would never actually need to take the professor up on his offer.</p>
<p>One suggestion Professor Snape made that <i>did</i> ease some of Hydrus’ tension was revealing his true identity to just a few select friends before braving the common rooms, or worse, the Great Hall. The Potions master had even offered up his own office for the small meeting, though under threat of detentions for a month if any harm came to anything in said office. Knowing that this was a downright generous offer considering who it came from, Hydrus and Hermione had eagerly agreed to his terms.</p>
<p>It hadn’t taken them any time at all to decide that it should be Ron and Draco who found out first. Outside of one another, Ron and Draco were the twins’ first and best friends. Hermione had asked if Fred and George could join them as well, but Professor Snape had told her in no uncertain terms that those two had a lifetime ban from entering his office. Even the revelation of an entirely new identity wasn’t a good excuse to let “those wretched twin terrors” anywhere near his office. Something about a potions related prank gone wrong in their second year…</p>
<p>“I hope they get here soon,” Hermione said impatiently, checking the clock on the wall for what must have been the thousandth time that minute. “All this waiting is driving me mad.”</p>
<p>Hydrus agreed, but said nothing. His nerves were skyrocketing, and he worried his heart might leap out of him through his mouth should he attempt to speak.</p>
<p>Luckily, they hadn’t needed to wait much longer. The door was yanked open just moments later with horrible creaking noise, and Ron and Draco came barreling into the professor’s office. They both looked worried, though in vastly different ways. Ron came off as more of a concerned mother hen, while Draco’s eyes were wide in such a wild panic that one might have thought he’d just run from a boggart.</p>
<p>“Are the two of you okay?” Draco demanded to know, his voice uncharacteristically shrill and breathless. “You’ve been gone for hours, and then Professor Snape—”</p>
<p>Whatever worried rant Draco had been preparing to launch into was cut abruptly short by his mouth falling open. He gaped in disbelief at Hydrus in Hermione for what felt like ages, his eyes darting back and forth between the twins, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what his eyes were seeing.</p>
<p>“Blimey! You two are the Lestrange twins, aren’t you?” Ron blurted out. He looked just as stunned as Draco, though in true Ronald Weasley fashion, it didn’t stop him from saying the first thought that popped into his head.</p>
<p>Hydrus shifted on his feet, feeling terribly self-conscious all of a sudden. “Uh, yeah. I mean… yes, we are,” he awkwardly answered Ron’s question. “Hydrus and Hermione Lestrange.”</p>
<p>“Well met, Heir Lestrange, Ms. Lestrange,” Draco said with a slight bow, all of his earlier emotions barely hidden behind the mask of pureblood politeness. It felt stiff and out of place, especially given how close they all were.</p>
<p>Hermione stared at Draco, looking like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to smack him or laugh at how he was acting. “Draco, don’t be an idiot,” she scolded him without any real bite. “You already know us, <i>and</i> you’re our cousin.”</p>
<p>“And you’re technically wrong anyway,” Hydrus added. “Hermione’s Heir Lestrange, not me.”</p>
<p>Draco’s cheeks flushed pink. “My apologies, Heir Lestrange and…?”</p>
<p>“Heir Slytherin,” Hydrus finished for him, trying not to laugh at his friends’ gobsmacked expressions.</p>
<p>“You’re a founder’s heir?” Ron asked excitedly. “Does that mean you can pull rank on prefects? Or make the professors give you less homework?”</p>
<p>“Eh, probably not.”</p>
<p>Ron gave Hydrus a sympathetic look, as though he felt his friend had been somehow cheated. “Bummer. Still, you being Heir Slytherin is wicked cool. I haven’t heard of a founder’s heir attending Hogwarts in decades.” After a beat, he added: “Guess that explains how you and Hermione are both parselmouths, too.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I would say so,” Hermione agreed, clearly amused.</p>
<p>Hydrus was at a loss for what to say. He hadn’t known what to expect from his friends, especially Ron, but things were going far, far better than he could have imagined. They didn’t seem to blame him at all for not really being Harry Potter. He was so used to being blamed for every possible imagined infraction at the Dursleys that he simply didn’t understand why his friends weren’t at least a little bit resentful that he’d accidentally done away with the supposed savior of the Light.</p>
<p>Why wasn’t Ron mad? He’d mentioned it several times that his family had fought against Death Eaters, that the Death Eaters had killed two of his uncles. And while Ron wasn’t exactly the type to go around accusing students of being junior Death Eaters like some students, it only made sense that there should be some level of resentment.</p>
<p>“And that’s… I mean, you’re not bothered by that?” he asked his friend.</p>
<p>Ron cocked his head to the side, confused. “Why would I be?”</p>
<p>“Well,” Hydrus faltered, feeling a bit foolish. He hadn’t thought he’d need to spell it out for Ron. “Because Hermione and I are from a Dark family—like, a really Dark family—and you’re not?”</p>
<p>“Draco’s from a Dark family too, and I’m still friends with him.”</p>
<p>“Oh, please,” Draco said with a scoff. “We’re acquaintances at best.”</p>
<p>Ron playfully shoved Draco’s shoulder. “You just keep telling yourself that, you ponce.”</p>
<p>Draco’s only response was to return Ron’s shove. </p>
<p>“But our parents are in prison,” Hydrus reminded him, though he didn’t know why he couldn’t just drop the subject. If Ron was willing to overlook all of that, then he should just keep his mouth shut and accept his good luck.</p>
<p>“Look, mate,” Ron began, his voice unusually serious. “You may have a different appearance and a different name, and you may literally be a different person now…” He trailed off awkwardly, seeming to have lost track of that particular train of thought. “But you’re still you, you know? And I’m still going to be your friend. Granted, I reckon it’ll be a bit weird looking at you at first, but I’ll adjust.”</p>
<p>Hydrus smiled at his friend. “Thanks, Ron. That really means a lot to me.”</p>
<p>And it did. As rambling and inarticulate as Ron’s speech had been, Hydrus felt as though an immense weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Even if the rest of the school ended up hating his guts because of who his parents were, the people who mattered to him the most would still be by his side.</p>
<p>“Truly inspiring, Weasel,” Draco drawled, a smirk spreading across his lips. “If I’d known you had such a way with words, I’d have asked you to revise all my essays.”</p>
<p>Ron’s face flushed as red as his ears. “Oi! Shut it, you pointy-faced git! At least I didn’t freeze when I saw them!”</p>
<p>“In my defense, they’re my formerly missing cousins! You’d freeze too if you were me!”</p>
<p>Hydrus would never say it aloud, but he had to admit that Draco raised a good point. If any of his missing relatives showed up after more than a decade he’d probably freeze up as well. He’d say it must’ve felt like seeing a ghost, but now that he knew ghosts were commonplace in the wizarding world and had seen quite a few of them himself, that old muggle saying no longer held the weight it used to.</p>
<p>Still, he did wonder if Uncle Lucius had said anything to Draco about the twins’ identities. He and Aunt Narcissa had been there when Sirius Black told his parents that he was with the Potters, after all, and it hardly seemed out of the realm of possibility that the Malfoys would share that information with their son just in case the two met at Hogwarts. And with Draco’s tendency to speak recklessly, a warning that “Harry Potter” was family might’ve been needed.</p>
<p>“Really though, I should be asking how <i>you’re</i> handling it all,” Ron told him, his voice laced with sympathy. “After all, you just learned that the Potters aren’t your parents, and that your real parents were supporters of the guy who killed them <i>and</i> tried to kill you as a baby.”</p>
<p>It was at that moment that Hydrus realized just how out of the loop his friends had become in the few short hours that he and Hermione had been gone. They knew nothing about the Potter will having been sealed by Dumbledore, nor were they aware of the damning and freeing truths said will revealed. The entire world had changed in one afternoon, but only a handful of people had been there to witness it.</p>
<p>How did one even begin reciting a tale like that?</p>
<p>“Well, um, about that…” Hydrus began awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.</p>
<p>“The Dark Lord didn’t kill the Potters,” Hermione explained for him, much to his relief. “Apparently he was Lily Potter’s cousin, and they got along pretty well. It was all in the Potters’ will, which hadn’t been read until we went to Gringotts with Professor Snape today.”</p>
<p>Ron looked as though he was about to faint. His face had gone unnaturally pale, and his eyes were bugging out to such an extent that Hydrus worried they might pop out of their sockets. </p>
<p>Draco, on the other hand, wore an expression that could be best described as a frightful combination of manic and delighted. There was a bit of shock there as well, and Hydrus guessed that at least some of what Hermione had divulged was new information for him.</p>
<p>“Oh?” Draco practically purred, his eyes alight with a dangerous zeal. “Do tell, dear cousins.”</p>
<p>And so, taking a deep breath, the Lestrange twins did just that.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>It was a day like any other within the walls of Azkaban. That is to say, it was miserable. The air was cold and dismal, shrouded in the pale fog left in the dementors’ wake. Suffering clung to every surface, to every little atom that formed the despicable place.<p>The dementors had just finished their rounds through the cellblock housing Azkaban’s most notorious criminals, which gave Sirius Black about an hour of reprieve before those wretched wraiths returned. Slowly, his shaggy grim visage dissolved, leaving him a man once more. The dog might fare better with the dementors, but the man was far less prone to whining at the thought of being trapped in this hellish cage.</p>
<p>A few cells over, he heard Bellatrix let out an exaggerated yawn. Between the dementors and working on her wandless magic—which had progressed from simple summonings to cutting curses to the occasional attempt at the Cruciatus Curse in just a few short months—his cousin was often exhausted these days. It took a lot out of her, torturing the depraved muggles who hurt her baby boy in between bouts of her own suffering at the hands of the dementors. But, as far as everyone could tell, it was well worth it.</p>
<p>Bellatrix had always been a vicious, obsessive person who, rather than suffering from the Black family madness, appeared to be enjoying every moment that it affected her. Motherhood had done nothing to change that. Instead, her children had become the center of her world, her obsessiveness shifting into an compulsive, all-encompassing love for the precious twins that had been so cruelly taken from her. And now, after eleven years apart from them and ten reliving the memory of the night they were stolen every time a dementor approached, she finally had an outlet for the clawing need to do something, <i>anything</i> to feel like she was helping them.</p>
<p>The Dursleys.</p>
<p>The moment the Dursleys arrived in their cellblock, Sirius watched his cousin transform from an aimless, angry shell of her former self and into the fiercest cobra of a woman he’d ever seen. All that rage and anguish and misery had a target made of flesh and blood. While she couldn’t do anything to rectify what had happened to her baby girl, her son’s tormentors were right in front of her, and there wasn’t a thing in the world capable of stopping her from striking.</p>
<p>A wandless <i>Crucio</i> was all but unheard of until the day Bellatrix decided that her need for revenge was more important than the supposed limitations of magic. The whale of a muggle—Vernon, Sirius thought his name was, though they had all taken to pointedly never calling him by his name—had started mouthing off yet again, and Bella had snapped. Glaring at him with a rage that shook Sirius to his core, she extended her fingers through the bars of her cell and shrieked the Unforgivable until the muggle was squealing like a pig at slaughter.</p>
<p><i>”You have to mean it,”</i> his father had told him, wand in hand, as he dared his thirteen year old son to try the curse just to see if he had the stomach for it. <i>”You have to want your victim to feel the worst imaginable pain, or else the spell won’t work.”</i></p>
<p>Sirius could only watch in horror and amazement at the sight of his cousin meaning the Cruciatus Curse more than anyone else in the history of its existence. </p>
<p>He was ashamed to admit that, at one point, he never would have expected Bellatrix capable of loving anyone as much as he now knew she loved her children. If anything, he’d have thought she’d be more like his own mother: interested only in the concept of heirs, and only if they behaved the way they were meant to. But now, Sirius was certain that Bella’s kids could go on to be Head of Gryffindor House or the future Light Lord, and she’d spend ages bragging about how they were clever enough to go against everyone’s expectations of them. Anything and everything they did would be perfect, if not solely because they were her children.</p>
<p>Just as he was contemplating whether or not he should ever actually admit to Bellatrix that he thought she was a good mother, a tiny owl dive-bombed through the bars of his cell window and torpedoed a letter into his lap. It stopped only long enough to hoot twice, and then flew back out to wherever it had come from.</p>
<p>“What was that?” the male Dursley demanded to know. “Was that a ruddy owl? What the hell would it be doing here?”</p>
<p>Sirius groaned. Any time that idiot opened his stupid mouth, chaos erupted. Couldn’t he just keep quiet and let Sirius read his letter in peace?</p>
<p>“Shut the hell up, Durlsey!” Rabastan shouted.</p>
<p>“Don’t tell my husband what to do, you freak!” came the shrill voice of Petunia Dursley. For whatever reason, she’d gotten bolder the longer she’d been here, seeming to believe she and her husband deserved just as much respect as the other inmates.</p>
<p>The more the Dursley woman talked, the more Sirius begrudgingly understood why Snape had been so interested in the Dark Arts. He’d have wanted to know every curse under the sun too if he had grown up down the street from someone like Tuney. Honestly, he was surprised that neither Lily nor Snape had killed the woman before she had a chance to turn into the monstrosity she was now.</p>
<p>The cellblock quickly descended into madness, with Death Eaters and muggles screaming bloody murder at one another as the occasional hex was cast, but Sirius didn’t pay it any attention at all. Instead, he tore open his letter and read the note inside:</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Ready yourself.</i>
  </p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Aurors are coming to get you.</i>
  </p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Blessed freedom is soon yours.</i>
  </p>
</div>Just as quickly as the note had appeared, it disintegrated, leaving Sirius with a handful of ash and the memory of what he’d read.<p>“Sweet Merlin,” Sirius breathed. He was getting out? He was getting out! Even having read the note, he could hardly believe such a thing was finally happening after a decade without so much as a whisper about his future freedom. His anonymous contact had actually done it!</p>
<p>Were it not for the confining cell and post-dementor exhaustion, Sirius might have jumped for joy. He was going to get out of this hellhole, find Remus, demand proper trials for his cousin and her Death Eater friends, and destroy every single thing Albus Dumbledore holds dear. His own nightmare was about to end, but Dumbledore’s was only just beginning.</p>
<p>Sirius opened his mouth to tell everyone the good news about his impending release, only to realize that they were all still screaming like banshees at one another. “Everyone, shut up and calm down!” he shouted over all their pointless noise. “I got a letter!”</p>
<p>Precious silence fell over the cellblock for just a moment, and then—</p>
<p>“Your anonymous contact?”</p>
<p>“What did it say?”</p>
<p>“Was the <i>Prophet</i> attached this time?”</p>
<p>“He told all of you to <i>shut up</i>!” Bellatrix screeched, her shrill voice cutting through the chaos like one of her daggers.</p>
<p>Sirius grinned and shook his head. How could he have ever thought Bellatrix was his least favorite cousin? The woman was clearly a miracle worker. A terrifying, murderous miracle worker. </p>
<p>“Thank you, Bella!” he called out to her.</p>
<p>“Of course, dear cousin!”</p>
<p>“My anonymous contact,” Sirius began, purposely drawing out each syllable for dramatic effect, “has informed me that I’ll soon be released.”</p>
<p>Not even one of Bella’s signature high-pitched shrieks could have silenced the excited cheers that erupted from his fellow inmates. Then again, with her cheers being the loudest of them all, Sirius doubted she’d have even wanted to quell their celebrations. Sirius allowed them all a few moments of rare happiness not fueled by muggle torture, mostly for his cousin’s benefitt. After all, who was he to deny anything to the woman who meant the Cruciatus Curse more than anyone else who’d ever lived?</p>
<p>“When do you think it’ll happen?” Rabastan asked, his voice a bit hoarse from the cheering but glee dripping from every word. “Did your contact give you a date?”</p>
<p>Just as Sirius was about to reply, the heavy telltale footsteps of dragon hide boots echoed through the prison.</p>
<p>“Apparently right now,” Sirius murmured in reply, hoping that the Aurors hadn’t heard any signs of their happiness. It wouldn’t do for them to think they had even a moment’s worth of relief from what was meant to be a living hell.</p>
<p>Everyone went deathly quiet. Even the muggles had learned by now to never provoke an Auror, lest they wish to be the victim of a lawman’s wrath.</p>
<p>Out of the shadows came two Aurors: a younger man who clearly held himself in high regard and a middle-aged man who could not possibly care less. They both looked eager to get out of Azkaban as soon as possible, though for vastly different reasons.</p>
<p>“I see this place is just as horrid as always,” the younger Auror complained. “No wonder we send the worst of society here.”</p>
<p>“It’s not much, but it’s home,” Rodolphus replied cheerily, an obvious attempt at baiting the Auror.</p>
<p>“A psychopath like you <i>would</i> say a thing like that, Lestrange,” the Auror retorted.</p>
<p>The older Auror clapped his hand on the younger’s shoulder. “No need to be like that now. The man’s just making the best of the hand he’s been dealt.”</p>
<p>This didn’t appease the younger Auror at all, but at least he stopped trying to egg Rodolphus on.</p>
<p>“Alrighty, then,” the middle-aged Auror continued. “We’re here for Sirius Black, if you lot don’t mind.”</p>
<p>“Please take him,” Dolohov insisted, his voice just cruel enough that it almost sounded like he meant what he said for the reasons they Aurors would expect. “We don’t want that mutt here for a moment longer.”</p>
<p>Sirius had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing at the mutt comment. Over the years, he and the others had managed to get away with telling the Aurors far more dog related jokes than they should have been able to without someone picking up on it. He’d be damned if this last time was the one that made him lose his composure.</p>
<p>The Auror who’d been complaining earlier glanced around to figure out which cell Dolohov was in, only to come across something unsettling enough to warrant a grimace. “Merlin! Is that dried blood on the floor?”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about it,” came Bellatrix’s cryptic response.</p>
<p>“Lady Lestrange, the Ministry doesn’t pay us enough to worry about it,” the middle-aged Auror replied, eliciting a round of amused chuckles from the inmates.</p>
<p>The young Auror, who Sirius decided wasn’t nearly as fun as he could be, let out an annoyed huff. “If something serious has happened to any of the inmates, it’s well within our jurisdiction to care about it!”</p>
<p>“Nothing serious has happened,” Rodolphus shamelessly lied, conveniently keeping the qualifier of “to any wizards” to himself. “We’re all still breathing, aren’t we?”</p>
<p>“See?” the older and far cooler Auror said casually. “We don’t need to worry about it at all. It was probably just some minor accident.”</p>
<p>Sirius nodded in agreement, though he knew the “minor accident” was one of the many cutting curses Bellatrix had wandlessly cast at the Dursleys. </p>
<p>“Alright, fine,” the less fun Auror reluctantly agreed. “Now if we could please get back to business.”</p>
<p>“Yes, of course. Sirius Black,” the cool Auror announced, his voice growing overly formal and authoritative. “Due to new evidence regarding the events of October and November 1981, as well as oversights regarding your previous lack of a trial, you are being released from Azkaban and into temporary Ministry custody. From there, you will be questioned under Veritaserum and submit relevant pensieve memories in order to establish your guilt or innocence. Do you understand and accept these terms?”</p>
<p>Sirius nodded vigorously. “I… I do.”</p>
<p>“Very well then.”</p>
<p>The bars to Sirius’ cell swung open for the first time in over a decade. Hesitantly, he stepped forward and allowed his feet to cross the threshold toward his freedom. He was leaving Azkaban. It wasn’t just a desire or words written on a note anymore. It was really happening.</p>
<p>An Auror grabbed each arm and started leading him toward his new lease on life.</p>
<p>“I’ll be back for you lot!” Sirius called out behind him, a bit too giddy to be healthy, especially with how the younger Auror’s fingers dug into the flesh of his arm. “I swear to you I won’t be the last one getting out of here!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Tom Riddle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>some loose ends get tied up. others get discovered.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>1. i own nothing<br/>2. hello yes i am back from my migraine-induced nightmare and ready to write</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The month after Hydrus and Hermione were restored to their true selves was hectic and full of gossip. Increasingly improbable theories as to how two Death Eater children ended up in muggle households echoed throughout the Hogwarts halls, while rumors of the Boy Who Lived To Go Dark abounded. There wasn’t a single spot in the school safe from preposterous stories about the Lestrange twins.</p>
<p>The news had broken on the very night that the twins discovered their identities, just as their Uncle Lucius had told them it would. They’d spent nearly an hour talking with the reporter their uncle had invited, answering all sorts of questions about where they’d been for the past eleven years and how they felt now that they’d found one another. All the while, Uncle Lucius had sat by their side and ensured that the story would present itself as a touching tale of long lost family being reunited. There would be no discussion of past politics or the Lestranges’ crimes, he’d promised them, as such things had nothing to do with how the children had been reunited.</p>
<p>When a special edition of the <i>Evening Prophet</i> fell into Hydrus’ lap at dinner that night, he knew that Uncle Lucius had kept his word.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>MISSING LESTRANGE TWINS FOUND AT LAST</b>
  </p>
</div>The front page story was indeed every bit the beautiful saga that the twins had been told it would be. It painted a sympathy-inducing picture of a clever little witch who was shunned by muggle adoptive parents who didn’t understand her accidental magic, a young wizard raised by hateful muggles that he’d grown up believing were his real family, and a touching reunion between the two children that had started as a newfound friendship on the Hogwarts Express. It was bittersweet and hopeful and sent the Great Hall into outright chaos.<p>Hydrus had felt a sea of eyes descend upon him, but in that moment, only one gaze mattered. He stared up at the staff table and waited for the pale blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore to find his. As soon as they did, every spark of their knowing, judgemental twinkle died. Harry Potter was dead. Dumbledore had lost him.</p>
<p>That tiny taste of victory had given Hydrus the motivation he needed to keep his head held high despite the following weeks of accusations and hexes thrown at him for who he was. Shouts of “traitor” could hardly sting after he’d seen failure on the face of the man who had betrayed him. No pain from the occasional jinx or hex in the hallway could ever outweigh the relief of knowing his fate was no longer in the hands of the man who’d put him with the Dursleys.</p>
<p>Luckily, news of the Lestrange twins wasn’t the only major story going around. The <i>Daily Prophet</i> had begun dropping bombshell after bombshell, flooding the wizarding world with more earth-shattering revelations than such a small community should be capable of handling. As overwhelming as it all must have been for everyone else, Hydrus and his sister appreciated how well those stories drew attention away from them.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>NEWLY UNSEALED POTTER WILL SUGGESTS SIRIUS BLACK’S INNOCENCE</b>
  </p>
</div>The news of Sirius’ release from Azkaban and upcoming questioning been the following morning’s headline. While it hadn’t brought out the same hysterical excitement out of the Hogwarts student body as the news of the Lestrange twins had the night before, it had at least taken enough attention off Hydrus and Hermione that they’d been able to eat their meals in the Great Hall without being mobbed.<div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>POTTER WILL CLAIMS YOU-KNOW-WHO WAS NOT THEIR KILLER</b>
  </p>
</div>When that particular headline dropped several days later, the uproar in the Great Hall had gotten so out of hand that students were forced to return to their dormitories for the day, with all classes canceled until they were able to act mature enough to respectfully interact with other houses.<div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>LILY EVANS-POTTER: SLYTHERIN HEIR?</b>
  </p>
</div>Almost no one reacted well to that revelation. The students from historically Light families were enraged that the <i>Daily Prophet</i> would “tarnish” the reputation of the deceased Lady Potter by accurately reporting on her Dark ancestry in a surprisingly respectful way. Those from more prejudiced—though not necessarily Dark—heritages, on the other hand, refused to believe that a woman of supposedly lesser blood could have descended from the Slytherin line.<p>Surprisingly, it was Professor Quirrell of all people who ended up lecturing students on their prejudices. “D-dark is n-not evil, and t-to think of it as such is limiting!” he’d scolded Seamus Finnegan when he’d asked the professor if he’d heard of any other “evil Dark wizards” who’d pretended to fight for the Light in the war like he claimed Lily Potter had. The professor had been so incensed that he’d scrapped whatever lesson he’d planned for the day in favor of going over the history of both famous Dark heroes and Light villains to prove just how limiting the Dark vs. Light mindset was. “Threats c-can t-take any form, n-no m-matter affinity, M-Mr. Finnegan.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>ALBUS DUMBLEDORE UNDER INVESTIGATION OVER SEALED POTTER WILL</b>
  </p>
</div>The headmaster didn’t appear at meals for a few days after that, which only served to make him look he had something to hide. Hydrus knew the man did, of course, but he certainly wasn’t doing himself any favors by hiding from even those that he might have been able to convince of his innocence.<p>But Hydrus’ favorite headline of all had been:</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>DUMBLEDORE REMOVED AS CHIEF WARLOCK</b>
  </p>
</div>The back-to-back scandals of the Lestrange twins being found after eleven years and Sirius Black being declared innocent, and the fact that all of this could have been resolved in 1981 had Dumbledore not sealed the Potter will, had been enough to force the man out of his coveted Chief Warlock position. Even his own allies amongst the Light, with the exception of a few diehards, had voted in favor of his removal. It simply wouldn’t do to have such a criminally negligent Chief Warlock.<p>Hydrus had also been awarded a handsome sum in reparations for the galleons Dumbledore had been taking from the Potter vault under the guise of “child support” paid to the Dursleys. Even if the Dursleys <i>had</i> received financial compensation for taking him in—which Hydrus sincerely doubted—not a single knut of it was ever spent on him. The fact that Dumbledore had continued to make these withdrawals without so much as checking to see if the money was being properly utilized left him just as responsible for its repayment as the Dursleys.</p>
<p>But even the constant barrage of shocking headlines couldn’t stop the internal Hogwarts gossip mill. Now, with end of year exams soon approaching, bets were being taken on a far, far more pressing matter: how much longer it’d be until the Defense curse kicked in? According the older students, as well as students with wizarding parents, there hadn’t been a Defense professor who lasted more than a year in about forty years. It had become something of a tradition to try and guess when and how the latest professor would be ousted from the position.</p>
<p>“What do you all think will happen to Quirrell?” Pansy had asked halfway through their study session, her tone conversational as she shut the book she’d been reviewing.</p>
<p>Padma Patil—a Ravenclaw friend of Hermione’s and the newest addition to their group—shrugged. “I heard some of the older students say he used to teach Muggle Studies. He’ll probably just go back to doing that.”</p>
<p>“Do you really think that’s enough to trick the Defense curse though?” Draco skeptically inquired. “My father said one of <i>his</i> Defense professors died from the curse.”</p>
<p>That caught Hydrus’ attention. “Died?” he asked his cousin. “How?” </p>
<p>“Brain aneurysm.”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t sound very curse-like,” Padma retorted. “More like that bad luck, or maybe even just poor health.”</p>
<p>Draco looked like he was ready to argue, but Pansy shrugged and said: “In that case, my bet’s on poor health doing away with Quirrell.”</p>
<p>“That seems pretty likely,” Hydrus agreed. Their Defense professor had been looking paler and more anxious with each passing day. He wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out their professor had developed some sort of illness that would eventually render him incapable of teaching.</p>
<p>“That’s it!”</p>
<p>Ron’s sudden exclamation caused everyone to jump—save for Hermione, who was too focused on her studying to care about anything that happened around her.</p>
<p>Draco arched a confused but curious eyebrow. “What’s it?”</p>
<p>“That reason why Professor Quirrell’s after the philosopher’s stone,” Ron elaborated, as if the nonsense coming out of his mouth was the most understandable thing in the world. “He must be really ill, maybe even dying.”</p>
<p>Draco scoffed. “The philosopher’s stone?” he repeated, his voice dripping with incredulity. “What in Salazar’s name are you going on about? Everyone knows that’s just a legend.”</p>
<p>“Actually, it was successfully created in the fifteenth century by French alchemist Nicholas Flamel, along with the help of his wife Perenelle,” Hermione interjected without so much as looking up from her notes. “From what I’ve read, they live in Britain now and are still working to further the study of alchemy. Flamel even worked with Dumbledore for a while, but that was long before any of us were even born.”</p>
<p>Everyone gaped at Hermione, stunned to silence that she just happened to have that information stored away somewhere in her mind. Eidetic memory indeed. </p>
<p>Pansy was the first to recover. “Do you… do you just know everything?” she asked.</p>
<p>“Not yet,” came Hermione’s cryptic response. She still hadn’t looked up from her notes.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Draco said slowly, wary eyes still focused on Hermione. “But even if the philosopher’s stone <i>is</i> apparently real, what does that have to do with Professor Quirrell or the Defense curse?”</p>
<p>“Remember that Gringotts break-in over the summer? And how Hydrus said Hagrid had emptied the same vault that had been broken into?” Ron asked him. He waited for Draco’s affirmative nod before continuing. “Well apparently, the object was the philosopher’s stone, and it’s hidden behind all sorts of enchantments in the forbidden third floor corridor.”</p>
<p>“Why in Merlin’s name would anyone put something like that in a school?” Padma exclaimed.</p>
<p>Hydrus found himself nodding in agreement. “The amount of danger that puts all of us students in…”</p>
<p>The philosopher’s stone—with its ability to grant perfect health, immortality, and turn any metal into gold—was perhaps the most coveted artefact in the magical world. Even growing up in the muggle world, Hydrus had read tales of the legendary stone and the desperate lengths people had gone to in order to create it. But, like Draco, he had always thought it was just that: a legend.</p>
<p>Something so powerful shouldn’t exist. There was an inherent wrongness to anything that claimed to perform miracles. Everything came with a price. Even the smallest of spells demanded a sliver of the caster’s energy. What price needed paid to wield an object capable of stopping death? Surely, it was no small sacrifice. And Albus Dumbledore had hidden it in a school with hundreds of innocent, unknowing children.</p>
<p>“I’m impressed you managed to put that all together on your own, Weasel,” Draco said imperiously, trying a little too hard to act like he wasn’t actually all that impressed. “I guess you really do bring something of merit to our group after all.”</p>
<p>Ron either didn’t notice Draco’s attempt at baiting him or didn’t care. “Actually, Fred and George were the ones who pieced it all together. Nothing gets them quite as motivated as being told not to meddle with something, so naturally they took Dumbledore’s whole ‘don’t go the third floor corridor unless you wish to meet a painful death’ speech as a challenge.”</p>
<p>“Any chance that’s related to all the cerberus jokes Fred and George were making earlier in the year?” Padma asked. </p>
<p>“Yep,” Ron replied easily, popping the ‘p’. “Their whole investigation started because they found a cerberus guarding a trap door while they were exploring. Hagrid said his name’s Fluffy.”</p>
<p>“Because of course it is,” Draco muttered. His face had gone even paler than usual, and he looked as though he wasn’t quite ready to accept that there was a giant, three-headed dog lurking in a dark corridor somewhere in a school with lax enough security that a pair of thirteen year olds had managed to stumble across it—which, in Hydrus’ opinion, was completely fair.</p>
<p>Pansy, on the other hand, wore an expression of both excitement and annoyance. “What I want to know is why you didn’t tell us about all of this sooner. Don’t you have any idea how valuable this gossip is?”</p>
<p>“Well, it never really seemed like a good time,” Ron said with a shrug. “We’ve all had a lot of other stuff going on, especially Hydrus and Hermione.”</p>
<p>“Fair point,” Pansy conceded, though she didn’t look happy about it. “So, where do your suspicions about Professor Quirrell wanting the stone come into play?”</p>
<p>“Well,” Ron began in a rather serious tone, “Fred and George said that he and Professor Snape were the only two teachers who ever really went up to check on the stone, so they figured that either one or both of them wanted to steal it.” Noticing the looks of outrage on the Slytherins’ faces over implicating Professor Snape, he hastily explained: “But honestly, I figured it couldn’t possibly be Snape who was after it because everyone would immediately suspect him. And even if he <i>did</i> want the stone, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to draw attention to himself like that.”</p>
<p>Hydrus laughed in spite of himself. Professor Snape really did seem the more obvious villain of the two. With the dark, dangerous dungeon bat skulking about, who would ever think to suspect meek, stuttering Professor Quirrell?</p>
<p>“They could be in on it together,” Padma suggested.</p>
<p>“No way!” Pansy argued. “Professor Snape can’t stand Quirrell.”</p>
<p>A dangerous grin spread across Padma’s lips. “Exactly! It’s the perfect cover for a joint operation.”</p>
<p>“I think you lot have gotten way off topic from your discussion on whether or not you think one of our professors is dying,” Hermione interrupted before they could theorize any further. She had finally put down her notes and dropped all pretenses of studying like the rest of them. “Need I remind you that this is a <i>serious</i> matter?”</p>
<p>Hydrus sobered up at his sister’s reminder. Speculating about the philosopher’s stone might be fun, but it wasn’t worth it if Professor Quirrell might be dying. He wondered if the professor had already been unwell before taking the post, or if it truly was the Defense curse trying to do him in.</p>
<p>Why hadn’t anyone ever been brought in to remove the curse on the job anyway? It should have been dealt with ages ago. It seemed rather reckless to allow awful things happen to a new qualified professor every single year.</p>
<p>What if Professor Quirrell truly did end up dying? Death was hardly a new concept for Hydrus, but knowing of people who’ve died and actually <i>knowing</i> them before their deaths were hardly comparable. Was he supposed to mourn? Did people typically mourn their teachers? And what if he just dropped dead while teaching? Hydrus had no idea how he’d cope with seeing the professor take his last breath.</p>
<p>
  <i>~What’sss going on, Hydrusss? I sssmell concern.~</i>
</p>
<p>Hydrus had almost forgotten that Iris was on his shoulders, so used to the weight of her there that it had begun to feel like a part of him. With so many students calling him a dangerous Dark wizard all the time, he figured he might as well play along and let Iris drape herself around his neck and shoulders like a living scarf. Plus, her increasingly impossible promises of what she’d do to anyone who hurt him were pretty funny.</p>
<p>Because snakes had a different understanding of names and families from humans, it had been both incredibly easy and incredibly difficult to explain to Iris why he’d left the dormitory as Harry Potter one morning and returned as Hydrus Lestrange by dinnertime. She’d been fine with the new name and new appearance, but she didn’t understand the new family part. <i>~Why would you need a family when you’re already hatched?~</i> she’d asked. It had been difficult getting her to understand that humans didn’t “hatch” with enough strength or skill to be independent, and needed their families a little while longer than snakes did.</p>
<p><i>~I’m fine,~</i> Hydrus assured her, stroking the shimmering scales on the top of her head. <i>~We were talking about Professssor Quirrell. Hisss job iss cursssed, and he might be leaving ssoon.~</i></p>
<p>Iris inclined her head, confused. <i>~Why would the curiousss man leave if you are here?~</i> she asked. <i>~He came to thisss place for hisss hatchlingss.~</i></p>
<p>Hydrus’ heart sank into his stomach. Professor Quirrell was the curious man? He came to Hogwarts for his hatchlings? But Professor Quirrell didn’t have children, at least not to Hydrus’ knowledge. And hadn’t Iris’ curious man talked to her? Truly talked to her? In Parseltongue? Not to mention, the curious man bought her specifically for a young parselmouth. Specifically for Hydrus.</p>
<p><i>No</i>, Hydrus thought. <i>It couldn’t be…</i></p>
<p>But what other explanation was there? </p>
<p>“I need to talk to Professor Quirrell,” Hydrus decided, not even bothering to hide the overwhelming sense of urgency that had shaped the sound of his words. “Right now.”</p>
<p>Everyone turned to stare at him, gaping as if he’d just grown a second head. But Hydrus didn’t even notice. He was too busy packing up his notes and schoolbooks so that he could go to Professor Quirrell’s office. If he left now, he’d have plenty of time to confront the professor, question him on his connection to the Dark Lord, and discover why he needed the philosopher’s stone—and all before dinner.</p>
<p>“What are you going to do?” Hermione asked incredulously. “Just go up to Professor Quirrell and ask him point-blank what he wants the philosopher’s stone for?”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>In retrospect, Hermione never should have put the idea into her brother’s head that they could just go up to Professor Quirrell and ask what he wanted the philosopher’s stone for. It was the exact sort of reckless, borderline Gryffindor stunt with which Hydrus saw absolutely no problems attempting.<p>She had no idea why she’d agreed to go along with him when he asked. As much as she told herself that maybe she could stop him—or, at the very least, protect him from the inevitable danger they were getting into—she knew deep down that she’d be capable of little more than moral support.</p>
<p>Even as Hydrus raised his hand to knock on Professor Quirrell’s office door, Hermione could only give the weak protest of: “You don’t actually have to go through with this, you know. You can still change your mind.”</p>
<p>“Trust me, Hermione. There’s nothing I’ve ever needed to do more.”</p>
<p>Without another word, Hydrus knocked.</p>
<p>Hermione had no idea what her twin meant by that and was quickly growing frustrated that he wouldn’t just explain things to her, but before she could argue, Professor Quirrell opened the door.</p>
<p>The Defense professor stared at them, surprised and anxious, as if he could think of no stranger sight than the two of them standing there. And perhaps he couldn’t. Hermione doubted many students wanted to visit a professor who reeked of garlic and stuttered nervously over every word as if the next one might be his doom.</p>
<p>“M-Mr. Lestrange, M-Ms. Lestrange, what an unexpected surprise,” he told them, all too obviously meaning it. “D-do c-come in.”</p>
<p>Hermione followed her brother as he entered Professor Quirrell’s office without a moment’s hesitation. She couldn’t stand how strangely confident he was acting, especially with how agitated he’d been right before they’d left their study group. Something about this whole thing seemed off. She just couldn’t put her finger on what it was.</p>
<p>Professor Quirrell, however, seemed completely oblivious to Hydrus’ strange behavior. “N-now, what c-can I d-do for the two of you?” he asked as he sat down in his chair and motioned for the twins to sit as well. </p>
<p>“I had a question for you, Professor,” Hydrus admitted, waiting for Hermione to sit down before taking the seat he was offered. “About a powerful magical artefact.”</p>
<p>“M-magical artefact?” Professor Quirrell repeated. “Is it something D-dark?”</p>
<p>Hydrus shrugged. “The artefact in question is dangerous, Sir, but I don’t know if I’d call it Dark. Still, I thought you’d be the best person to ask just in case it is.”</p>
<p>Professor Quirrell gave the twins a conspiratorial smile, as if he thought Hydrus wanted to discuss something too advanced or even too taboo for an eleven year old to know about. “C-completely understandable,” he assured them. “And I suppose M-Ms. Lestrange is here out of c-curiosity as t-to the answer?”</p>
<p>“Something like that.” Leaning in close, Hydrus hissed: <i>~What are your plansss with the philossopher’ss sstone?~</i></p>
<p>Hermione wanted to slam her forehead against Professor Quirrell’s desk. Repeatedly. How could her brother be so idioitc and just outright ask something like that? There was no way this wouldn’t end badly.</p>
<p>Just as she was about to reach for her wand in case a duel broke out, something clicked. Hydrus’ question had a strange, serpentine hiss to it. He had asked in Parseltongue.</p>
<p>Whatever theory her brother had, it somehow hinged on the assumption that Professor Quirrell spoke Parseltongue—or, at minimum, understood it. Hermione didn’t understand how that could be possible since the only known parselmouths in Britain were the descendants of Salazar Slytherin, and the Defense professor most assuredly was not one of them. However, it at least meant nothing bad would happen to them when Quirrell inevitably asked what all that hissing had been about.</p>
<p>Professor Quirrell startled, but made a quick recovery “Straight t-to the p-point, eh? N-not very Slytherin of you. B-but t-tell m-me—what is it that m-makes you think I’m after the stone?”</p>
<p>Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t believe it. Professor Quirrell was a parselmouth. Or perhaps, she supposed, he wasn’t Professor Quirrell at all. But she could only think of one other known parselmouth, and this surely couldn’t be him. Could it?</p>
<p><i>~Ssslytherin enough to force you into a missstake,~</i> Hydrus countered, a slight smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. <i>~Converssse with many parssselmouthss, Professssor? Or sshould I call you Father?~</i></p>
<p>Rather than deny it, a strange look fell over Professor Quirrell’s face. He crewed his eyes shut and his nose scrunched up, giving the impression that he was suffering from a migraine. And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the professor’s expression went back to normal. Mostly normal anyway. His eyes, usually so warm and rich, had become a dark, burning shade of crimson.</p>
<p>Sitting before her was, in some form or another, the Dark Lord Voldemort. </p>
<p>“Very impressive, my son,” he praised Hydrus in a low, rich voice that sounded nothing like their professor. “What gave me away?”</p>
<p>Even with his natural occlumency abilities restored, Hermione could still see it written all over her brother’s face that he was just as shocked by this odd semi-transformation as she was. He also must have assumed this was some sort of disguise instead of… whatever it was they’d just witnessed. </p>
<p>“Iris recognized your voice as being the one who purchased her,” Hydrus explained, absentmindedly petting the boa and giving his best attempt at a poker face. “Seemed a bit strange that you’d buy me a present and then sign the note with my father’s initials if you were just some ordinary professor.”</p>
<p>No wonder Hydrus had left their study session in such a hurry. Iris must have only just realized that while they were talking about Professor Quirrell and the Defense curse. He’d probably wanted to make sure that their Professor (father?) was okay.</p>
<p>“Even stranger that you’d know his full initials to begin with,” Hermione added. “I’ve read just about every book there is on the Dark Lord, and there isn’t a single mention of his real name in any of them. I doubt even most of his followers would’ve known.”</p>
<p>If it were possible to find a connection between Tom Marvolo Riddle and Lord Voldemort, Hermione would have been the one to find it. She’d spent ages trying to find more on the mysterious Tom Riddle in the hopes of discovering extended family through that name, but there wasn’t a single scrap of information to be found after he’d graduated Hogwarts in 1944. He had simply disappeared. If she hadn’t known better, she might’ve assumed he’d been a casualty of the Second World War.</p>
<p>Professor Quirrell? Lord Voldemort? Father? Whoever—or perhaps <i>whatever</i>—he was chuckled softly. “No, I can assure you that they did not. It would have been nearly impossible to command their respect with my common muggle birth name advertising my… dirty blood… as they’d called it back then.”</p>
<p>Hermione’s eyebrows shot up nearly to her hairline. With the way the Dark Lord had been portrayed by all the history books, especially with his alleged crusade against muggles and muggle-borns, she had assumed that he was a pureblood. Then again, those history books had clashed terribly with the <i>Daily Prophet’s original depiction of the Dark Lord’s goals. Where did the truth end and the propaganda begin? </i></p>
<p>
  <i>“I see it in your eyes that you have questions for me, but I don’t have enough time right now to answer them all,” her father told her gently. “But rest assured that we will have the whole summer to become reacquainted.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“The summer?” Hermione repeated hopefully. She was going to see him this summer? Perhaps even stay with him for some of it?</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Her father gave a single nod.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“That’s why you need the stone, isn’t it? So you can come back?” </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Yes. I am very much looking forward to being corporeal once more.” A shudder wracked his form, and that pinched expression Quirrell had worn before the switch was returning. “I’m nearly out of time, but I promise you’ll see me soon enough. Don’t allow any rumors you may hear of my, or rather our, deaths convince you otherwise.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Another shudder, another tight squeeze of his eyelids, and then Professor Quirrell returned. “I hope you understand that nothing you discussed with your father can leave this room,” he told them in a voice more steady and serious than they’d ever heard during class.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Hydrus and Hermione nodded vigorously. “Of course, Professor,” they agreed in unison.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Well, off you go,” he dismissed them. “I’m sure you’d rather return to your studies.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Hermione made to get up and leave, but her brother hesitated. “Professor Quirrell?” he asked. “I have one more question, if you don’t mind.” He waited for the Defense professor to nod. “Was the fake stutter really necessary?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Their professor’s face split into an amused grin. “Probably not, but I always thought it’d be fun to try my hand at acting.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i></i>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>The Leaving Feast had indeed included an announcement of Professor Quirrell’s untimely demise. Dumbledore had appeared saddened by the loss, calling it regrettable and all sorts of other nonsense that less informed students ate right up. But not Hydrus. No, he could see that tiny bit of smugness at what he believed to be a win. It was clear he didn’t care at all about the “death” of Professor Quirrelll, not if it meant Voldemort’s defeat.<p>Even though Professor Quirrell had previously assured him that he wouldn’t really be dying and that Hyrus would get to see his father soon enough, he couldn’t help but worry that the Headmaster’s words were true. After all, Dumbledore was a wizard of legendary strength, while the Defense professor was in a significantly weakened state from playing host to the Dark Lord’s wraith. If the two had encountered one another at any point during the heist, there was no way Professor Quirrell would have survived. </p>
<p>And if Quirrell died, did that mean his father would be dead as well? Or would he simply return to being an untethered soul? What if it took him another decade before he found another suitable host? What if his father never managed to get his body back in Hydrus’ lifetime? Hydrus wasn’t ready to lose another father, not so soon after learning he had one (or rather, two).</p>
<p><i>Snap out of it. I’m sure everything worked out just fine,</i> scolded Hermione through their link.</p>
<p>Hydrus wished he shared her optimism, but he wasn’t exactly used to things going well for him. This year’s luck had been the exception, but he wasn’t reckless enough to hope it became the norm.</p>
<p><i>I hope you’re right</i>, he told his sister.</p>
<p>
  <i>Of course I’m right.</i>
</p>
<p>Hydrus decided it best not to argue.</p>
<p>“No need to look so glum, mate,” Ron assured him. “I’m sure you’ll have a brilliant summer, even if you <i>are</i> stuck with the Malfoys.”</p>
<p>Hydrus had to look over at his sister to see if she’d put Ron up to this. Unfortunately, she appeared to be innocent of meddling, as she was listening to Pansy gossip about some prank that had left Millicent Bullstrode with bright pink hair. No one knew who’d done it, of course, but Pansy had plenty of theories.</p>
<p>“Better than being stuck in a den of weasels,” Draco shot back at Ron, though there wasn’t any real bite to his words.</p>
<p>Ron rolled his eyes. “Maybe you should brainstorm some new material over the summer. The weasel thing’s getting a bit tired.”</p>
<p>Hydrus let out an amused huff, while Draco’s cheeks tinged pink in his embarrassment.</p>
<p>“But really, Hydrus,” Ron continued. “If it’s the summer you’re worried about, don’t be. It’s not like it can be any worse than when you lived with those awful muggles.”</p>
<p>Draco nodded in agreement. “The worst you’ll have to suffer through at the manor is Ursa hounding you to play with her. And possibly politics lessons with Father.”</p>
<p>“Ugh, that sounds awful. I’ve never felt happier about my status as a blood-traitor in my life,” Ron quipped, grimacing.</p>
<p>As Ron and Draco continued to bicker with one another, Hydrus allowed his thoughts to wander once more. The past year had been strange—stranger than he ever could have imagined. He had started it off as Harry Potter, the “delinquent” nephew the Dursleys. Now, though, he was Hydrus Riddle-Lestrange, the second-born twin of Bellatrix Black-Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Tom Riddle. He was the heir of Slytherin as well as Gaunt, and, most importantly, he younger brother by twelve minutes to Lestrange heir Hermione Riddle-Lestrange. His family was Dark and considered evil by many, but that didn’t matter to him. They were his family and they loved him, and he loved them as well.</p>
<p>By the time the Hogwarts Express pulled into King’s Cross Station, Hydrus’ spirits were beginning to lift. His friends were right. This summer was going to be great. He would be with his loving family and no one would treat him like a house elf or abuse him. And even if Professor Quirrell failed to get the stone and had died like Dumbledore claimed, that didn’t mean anything bad had happened to his father. At worst, he would be an untethered wraith, just as he had been before meeting the Defense professor. At best, Hydrus would get to see his living, breathing father in the flesh for the first time.</p>
<p>He and his friends made their goodbyes as they got off the train. Ron had been the first to disappear into the crowd of families waiting for their children, having easily spotted the large gaggle of redheads that made up his family. Padma left next, following her twin Parvati over to their parents after making tentative plans to see Hermione over the summer. Theo was more subdued, simply giving a wave and a shy smile before vanishing to find his father. And Pansy, of course, had to make a show of hugging the life out of every single one of them until her sister Peony finally dragged her away, muttering something about the importance of decorum all the while.</p>
<p>That left just Hydrus, Hermione, and Draco. Hydrus half expected for the two of them to leave as well, for it to turn out that this was all a big misunderstanding and that he’d still be returning to Privet Drive. Even though it had been months since he’d learned the truth, moments of disbelief still overtook him from time to time.</p>
<p>“Draco!”</p>
<p>The high-pitched squeal rang through Hydrus’ ears as a little blonde girl launched herself at his cousin. Draco looked down at the girl, both startled and embarrassed by her clinginess if the flush of his cheeks was any indication. He patted her on the shoulder gently, though it was all too clear that he wished she’d unhand him.</p>
<p>“Ursa, what I have told you about running off on your own?” came the exasperated voice of Uncle Lucius as he caught up with his daughter.</p>
<p>Letting go of her brother, Ursa sighed and dutifully recited: “It is both dangerous and unbecoming for a young lady of my status to act in such a manner.” </p>
<p>“Very good, darling,” Aunt Narcissa told the girl once she’d reached her husband’s side. “Now if only you could demonstrate your ability to listen to instructions rather than simply repeating them.”</p>
<p>While Hydrus had corresponded with his aunt through owl post, he’d yet to meet her in person until now. She was a striking woman, with long blonde hair pulled into a neat chignon and piercing gray eyes that seemed to look right through everything and everyone. With Uncle Lucius next to her, Hydrus couldn’t help but think of what an intimidating power couple they made. </p>
<p>Aunt Narcissa gave both Hydrus and Hermione an appraising look before saying, “Come along now, children. I’m sure you’re all anxious to get home after such a long train ride.”</p>
<p>The twins nodded, trailing behind their aunt and uncle as  they made their way over to the floos.</p>
<p>“Are you the two of you familiar with floo travel?” Aunt Narcissa asked them.</p>
<p>“A bit,” Hermione replied. “Professor Snape used the floo when he took us to Gringotts.”</p>
<p>Aunt Narcissa smiled. “Good. That’ll make this a bit easier.” She grabbed a bit of floo powder for each of them and instructed: “Throw the floo powder at your feet and say: Malfoy Manor, Main Sitting Room. Understood?”</p>
<p>Hydrus nodded. He took a pinch of the floo powder and repeated: “Malfoy Manor, Main Sitting Room.”</p>
<p>He stumbled through the floo, barely saving himself from falling flat on his face. Recovering quickly, he took a look around the room to see that it was white and pristine and spacious, with clean lines and minimalist decor. He felt oddly out of place in such an ethereal, nearly glowing space.</p>
<p>A dark haired man in black robes was sitting on one of the alabaster couches, though Hydrus was still a bit too disoriented from floo travel to get a proper look at him other than to notice that he too looked out of place in a room so white.</p>
<p>“Well that was a thoroughly unpleasant way to travel,” Hermione groaned.</p>
<p>Hydrus turned his attention to his sister, who, while managing to stick the landing better than he did, had gone a bit green. </p>
<p>The Malfoys quickly followed after Hermione, although every single one of them emerged from the floo with far more grace than Hydrus and far less nausea than Hermione. Even little Ursa had been mostly unaffected, just stumbling ever so slightly before catching herself. </p>
<p>“My Lord,” Aunt Narcissa said suddenly, reminding Hydrus that there had been someone sitting on the couch. “I thought I told you to stay in bed. You haven’t yet regained enough strength to—”</p>
<p>The man waved her off. “Narcissa, I’m strong enough for this.”</p>
<p>It was then that Hydrus got a proper look at the man. He was too thin and too pale and had heavy, purple dark circles under his crimson eyes, but Hydrus would have recognized him anywhere. He had the same wavy black hair, high cheekbones, and aristocratic features as he’d had in both the Mirror of Erised and all the memories contained in the Potters’ will. The hair by his temples was going a bit gray, but otherwise, he didn’t appear to have aged a single day in the decade he’d been gone.</p>
<p>Tom Marvolo Riddle.</p>
<p>Lord Voldemort.</p>
<p>His father.</p>
<p>“Hello… Father,” he greeted the man hesitantly, the weight of that title still so new on his tongue and yet so natural to say.</p>
<p>The Dark Lord grinned with teeth that were just a bit too sharp to look entirely human. <i>~Welcome home, my heirsss. It’ss been too long.~</i></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>chapter 1 of book 2 is gonna be up in like 5 seconds so feel free to check it out</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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